


Monster Mash

by hellzabeth



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Monster Mash AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellzabeth/pseuds/hellzabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Non-nation AU. Inspired by the Halloween outfits of 2010, originally posted on LJ. A wandering spirit, Francis gets in a little bit of trouble one day when he gets stuck while trying to possess a body. He goes to his more magically inclined vampire friend for assistance (and to annoy him) and finds that he's not the only guest in the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Francis didn't remember dying. 

And really, that's probably what kept him hanging around, that big gap in his memory. He'd always been wandering, always unseen by all but the mad and the dying, ever since the gap. He remembered when he was alive as well, the little town in the south of France that wasn't there any more, disappeared a few hundred years ago. He didn't have any regrets or worries about his life there. As far as he remembered he was a simple baker, content with his job, flirting with the ladies of the village as he was wont to do. Then there is the gap, and then he's dead. 

Whatever was keeping him here was in that gap, but no matter how many times he visited the empty field where his village was, he couldn't remember. So he wandered about, not tied to anything on this earthly plane but the earth itself, it seemed. He learned about his powers, what he could and couldn't do. Amused himself by flipping up the skirts of passing girls and watching them squeak and blame the wind for it. Rattled the windows of naughty children who wouldn't go to bed. Learned how to possess people.

Ah, and that last one was the one he honed to a fine art. It wasn't difficult to find people laying about, depressed, bored with life, ready to just drop off for a long nap. Francis gave them that readily. And if they happened to wake up five weeks later in a gutter in Paris, well, that would just make their life interesting again, wouldn't it?

He didn't pick just anyone. You could accuse him of vanity all you wanted, but the things he did when he had a body were often more easily obtained when that body was at least moderately attractive. 

Women and men, rich and poor, as long as they were beautiful, and empty, he would have them. 

He found Phillipe in a back alley in Toulouse. 

He was surrounded by empty bottles, dressed in clothes that hadn't been washed in weeks, eyes half-lidded and probably seeing things that weren't really there. He exuded such an aura of misery that even the rats avoided him. 

But his long blonde hair hung in curls around his face, unshaven beard highlighting his high cheekbones, a proud nose and unmarked face. His hands, while dirty at the moment, were delicate but strong in the way they clutched at an empty bottle. And his eyes were the most fascinating shade of blue. An rich, well bred, possibly aristocratic ancestry, Francis decided, who fell out of favor, or became bankrupted. 

Perfect.

The man's eyes followed him as he crouched in front of him. Well, if he was down and out enough to see spirits he must really be on the edge. 

"Do you want to go with me?" Francis asked. The man's mouth worked silently for a moment.

"Are you an angel?" he muttered, and even his voice had a delicious tenor to it. Francis licked his lips.

"If you want me to be." 

"A devil, then?" And with a sharp mind, drunk or not. That always made it easier for Francis to think clearly once he was in. My, this was certainly interesting. 

"If you want me to be."

He chuckled, and Francis couldn't understand how someone so charming and beautiful and _perfect_ could fall from grace. "Take it then. Take my soul and cart it off where you please. I don't care."

"It's not your soul I want." Francis explained, reaching out and brushing a little mud off the man's face. "Just your body."

Again the laugh, but it sounded so tired. Oh, Francis would give anything to hear that laugh in it's full glory. "Then take that. I don't know why you'd want it, but take it."

Francis smiled, and _pushed_. The initial resistance was like sticking his hands in tar, and he leaned his weight forward, forcing his way in. Then something slipped, and he fell the rest of the way. He opened his eyes and immediately realised why the man could see ghosts; he was both drunk and high as a kite. What the heck had he put into this beautiful body? Separating himself from the intoxication by way of willpower, Francis wiggled his new toes and hands, rolled his shoulders and flexed every muscle. Then he stood up. A perfect fit, everything about this body was a perfect fit. 

"You like it then?"

The voice made him jump, whipping round to look at the man. Or rather, the soul of the man whose body he'd just possessed.

"How- you're meant to be asleep inside here!" Francis said, heart hammering. A sensation he'd not missed. "What are you doing out there!"

"If you want my body, you can have it. I've got no use for it any more." He chuckled, ethereal and echoing off nothing. "Ahh, it's bright. And so much warmer..." The man's face became younger, stress falling away, beard disappearing into a neatly trimmed goatee, clothes re-forming into a waistcoat befitting a noble. "It's nice..." And just like that, he was gone.

Francis stared at the empty alleyway, gaping.

"Merde."

Now what?

*******

Francis was right, at least. He did clean up spectacularly. 

"Thanks again, Elizaveta." he called to the woman on the sofa who was painting her nails. Long brown hair fell over her shower when she turned to look at him. 

"Oh, it's no problem, Francis." she chirped, blowing on her nail varnish. Her nurse's uniform shifted as she crossed her legs, getting comfortable. "But I wish you'd give me warning before turning up here. You're lucky Dr Roderich is on call, or he'd have a fit at the state this one was in." Red fingernails flicked through the air as she indicated his new body. A wicked smirk curved her lips up. "But you really do have an eye for hidden gems. You are _smoking_ , if I do say so myself."

"Speaking of which, this one must smoke a packet a day because I am _dying_ for a cigarette." Francis said, running a hand through his hair, still wet from the shower. The ends curled even more when wet, and he pulled on them experimentally to watch them bounce. A packet of Marlboro was tossed his way, and he caught it. Fast reflexes. Huh. 

"Just one, those are Dr Roderich's." Elizaveta warned, shaking out her hand. France pulled one out and examined it.

"Got a light?" he asked. The brunette snapped her fingers, a small, candle-like flame hovering above her index digit. Francis bent down and lit up. "Merci, mon cher."

"So he's French like you?" she added, blowing out the supernatural flame. "You usually can't access your language centres when in a body that doesn't speak them. Fluent speaker or not, that body's tongue wouldn't be trained to make the correct sounds. The muscle memory would be off."

"Your medical knowledge is showing, Nurse Héderváry." Francis smirked at her, blowing a smoke ring. Seemed he knew how to do that, at least. She rolled her eyes at him, then blinked as her beeper went off. Checking it, she rose from the sofa. 

"Ah, another one." she commented brightly, slipping the device back onto her belt and striding over to the door, picking up a slightly dirty shovel and resting it on her shoulder. "Well, I'll get going, and you have to be gone before Roderich comes home." Her smile turned sharp, and from under her hair, two dark horns grew up, and the air in the room started to thrum with a dark, eerie feeling. "Or it'll be you I'm burying." 

Dead or not, Francis felt chills run down his spine. "Madame, it will be like I was never here."

She beamed. "Good! Bye for now!" And she was off.

Needless to say, Francis gathered his things _quickly_.

*******

He'd never stayed in one body for so long, as far as he could remember. In fact, since he'd (somehow) lost his own body, his last record for staying in a body was six months.

This was now his second "birthday", and he'd still not changed.

On the one hand, he'd started accumulating enough wealth to travel comfortably, something he usually wasn't able to do unless he possessed someone rich. On the other hand, he seemed to be stuck.

His usual method for leaving a body was to just push the original owner's soul back into place, which in turn dislodged him with ease and simplicity. But this body had no soul but Francis'. He supposed the other way would be to kill himself, but he really didn't fancy it. He didn't even know how he died in the first place. Moreover, this body hadn't aged at all since he'd possessed it, not even the hair had grown, so he began to wonder if it was even possible. 

The channel was it's usual gray colour, whipped up by the wind into a churning mess topped with white foam. The ferry he was currently leaning on the rails of steamed forwards towards the English coastline. He'd not been to England for a long time. He wondered if that old acquaintance was still there.

It was dark by the time the taxi pulled up to the end of the large and imposing gateway, rusting slightly on the hinges and surrounded by dense forest. The driver, bless his soul, refused to go any further into the woods, so Francis paid him and let him drive off at a considerably faster speed than was necessary. It wasn't needed; it was only 7pm, and Arthur wouldn't be out and about until at least 9, the predictable man he was.

The old mansion was just as imposing as the last time he'd been here, though then he had been possessing a woman's body. He'd had to return said woman to her family with bite marks and anemia, but otherwise no harm done. Francis was quite a bit more worried about his safety in a man's body; Arthur wasn't nearly so polite to men as he was women.

The path twisted through trees, the waxing moon the only source of light between the branches. The Autumn leaves kicked up when the wind brushed past them, but it wasn't too cold, and Francis' suitcase wasn't all that heavy. In all, it was quite inviting, at least to a person who didn't know what lay beyond the trees, there, in the house that had just come in to sight. To be honest, calling it a house was somewhat of an insult to the architect; it was a mansion, a fortress, built of black and gray stone four hundred years old. Three stories it rose up, in the middle of a wide clearing in the forest, with the pathway leading up to it. An ornate fountain stood out front, still in working order. Around the back, Francis could catch a glimpse of a hedge maze and a well tended to garden, swaying in the breeze. None of the lights were on in the house, though it was not late into the evening as of yet. Francis wasn't concerned; Arthur didn't really need lights to see by anyway. 

The steps up to the mansion were worn at from use, and on one of them there seemed to be a dark stain of some kind. The Frenchman carefully avoided it. The door knocker was a snarling lion, but he paid it no attention as he knocked on the door with his own knuckles. There was silence for a long time, before the door swung open, seemingly of it's own accord.

"Enter." came a disembodied voice. Francis rolled his eyes. So dramatic.

"Arthur!" He called into the hallway, hung with the heads of many game animals as well as old portraits of various beautiful sunlit scenes, even if Arthur hadn't seen the sun in centuries. "It's me, Francis!"

A figure appeared at the top of the stairs. "I could smell you coming from a mile off, frog." Arthur said, pale in the moonlight that shone through the high windows, flaxen blonde hair sticking up like he had bed head even though Francis knew he brushed it. Green eyes surveyed him coldly, visible as they glowed dimly in the dark. "What do you want? And what's with that body, it stinks of tobacco."

"Just somewhere to stay for the night." Francis answered, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised. "And, maybe, some of your expertise in the occult."

Arthur sniffed haughtily. Francis briefly enjoyed the two-inch height advantage this body gave him. Last time, Arthur had been able to look down on him. "Fine. Don't track mud on my carpet, I just cleaned it."

"Made a mess with dinner?" the Frenchman chuckled. He received a sharp look for his troubles. Arthur came down the stairs with the air of a prince who had been woken too early from his nap; grumpily and snobbishly. He swept into the dining room, not minding to put on the lights, so Francis put them on for him. The other man cringed and hissed like a snake, turning to squint hatefully at Francis.

"Don't do that without warning!" he growled, blinking his eyes further open. Red faded slowly from the irises, and he turned on his heel again to walk into the kitchen. Francis followed, flicking the lights on in there as well. This time his only reaction was a twitch, but still Arthur turned to him and said "I don't like you."

"D'accord."

"Just so you're still aware."

"Oui."

"And you're not staying in my house for long."

"Understood."

Silence passed, and Arthur flicked the kettle on, leaning against the counter and folding his arms against his black shirt. Black trousers too. Well, at least it was a flattering colour, but on him it only made his skin look even paler, as if it needed the help.

"So what was it you wanted my help with?" the Englishman said finally, tapping his finger against his arm. "My knowledge on the occult is vast, so you'll have to be specific."

Francis made a helpless hand movement. "It's this body. I'm stuck."

A large, thick eyebrow raised. "Stuck."

"Oui, stuck. I usually hop from one body to the other without any issue, but with this one I can't leave."

Arthur frowned, an impressive gesture on it's own. "Explain how you got hold of this one."

Francis did, telling him all about Phillipe, as he'd learned the man's name was, where he'd found him, how he'd taken his body, the soul vanishing.

"Ah." the other interrupted him, pausing in pouring his tea. "There's your problem."

"Quoi?" Francis leaned forward, interested. 

"The soul, it vanished didn't it?" The tea spoon dumped a little sugar into the teacup, and followed by Arthur uncorking a small vial full of red liquid and pouring that in too instead of milk. He stirred it, sipped it, sighed contentedly and continued, eyes now as vibrant a red as the vial. "That body is now yours. The soul gave it up to you. You can't leave because you're tethered to it as much as he was before you pushed him out." He gave him an amused look. "Of course, I could always kill you, that would get you out."

"I'll pass." Francis held up his hands, not touching his own teacup. "I don't think you'd like the taste of me anyway."

Arthur wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Oh heavens, _no_ , I don't mean that. Your body is so _you_ by this point that I would never get the taste of frog out of my mouth. Besides which it's cold and I hate it cold." he huffed. "There are plenty of other ways to kill a man."

At that moment, the front door slammed. Francis blinked, then frowned, confused. Arthur rarely had guests, much less anyone with keys to get into the house. Who...?

"Arthuuuuur~!" Yelled an extremely loud young man's voice. His accent was distinctly American, and it was ever so funny to watch Arthur's eye twitch. "Arthur, I got one for ya! Where do you want me to put it?"

"Basement!" the vampire called back, fangs exposed when he opened his mouth so wide. He unconsciously licked them, and immediately Francis knew what was going on.

"Oho~." he smirked. Arthur jerked to look at him, having apparently forgotten he was there for a moment. "You got yourself a new feeder, I see."

"Shut up." he grumbled, standing from the table. "It's just for convenience. He can travel further than I can and the locals were getting suspicious."

"By which you mean he can drive?" 

"I thought I said _shut up_?" Arthur snapped, striding from the room. Francis got up and kept pace behind him, following him out of the kitchen, through the dining room, across the hall and behind the staircase to where the cellar door lead them down the dank stairs to the basement. The room was dimly lit by a single light hanging from the ceiling. It revealed a boy who couldn't be more than 19 standing with bloodied trousers over a brunette woman who seemed to be missing a foot. She sobbed into her gag, wide eyes gazing up at the two men who entered the room, seeking help. 

She wouldn't get any.

Not pretty enough.

"Say, Arthur?" said the American boy, shouldering a massive chainsaw with the amount of effort it took Francis to pick up a pen. "Do I get to play with this one first?"

Red eyes glowed in the dark like a cat's, watching the woman where she bled from her missing appendage. "I don't mind, I ate yesterday so I'm not starving." he said after a pause. "But not too much. Remember I like it warm and not all over the ground."

The boy laughed, bright and cheerful and so innocent. Francis could hardly believe it. Was he going to... "You got it! One glass of A-Positive coming right up!"

Francis wasn't one for gore. Once the chainsaw's engine revved and plunged down, he turned his attention off to the side, ignoring the woman's screams as he read the titles of some of the old books on the wall. Well, it seemed that Arthur had even got his hands on a copy of the Necronomicon. Tough find these days. From the drawings on the wall, he hadn't given up his obsession with alternate dimensions either. But, Francis supposed, when one has all the time in the world they had to put it towards _something_ didn't they?

The woman's screeches died when she did, with a gurgle of blood at the mouth before she stopped moving. The American's chainsaw kept going for another minute however, severing through bone and flesh until it juddered to a stop. Francis still didn't look over, but he did hear the teen's quiet giggling, interspersed with panting. Was it effort, or did he just _enjoy_ it that much?

"Heheheh... that was great..." he breathed, sky blue eyes looking over square framed glasses at the vampire across the room. "Was it good for you too, Arthur?"

Francis snorted. So it was that kind of enjoyment. And the kid had a sense of humor. Unfortunately, Arthur didn't.

"Shut up, little brat. Out of my way." And that was all the warning the American got before Arthur pounced upon the body, savaging it at the neck and any open wound, of which there were many to chose from. The teen blonde danced around him, coming to stand next to Francis with a cheerful smile. 

"Heh, he forgot to use the glass again." he chuckled, looking over at the Frenchman curiously. "Hi, I'm Alfred, Alfred F. Jones. Born in Jamestown, raised in Boston, 100% citizen of the U.S of A! Nice to meet ya!" He offered a bloody hand to shake. Francis stared at it until Alfred noticed and hastily wiped it on his also bloody shirt. "Sorry, I get a little messy when I do that."

"I see." To tell the truth, Francis didn't know what to think of the situation. "Francis Bonnefoy, born and raised in a town that doesn't exist anymore, used to be a citizen of France. Bonjour."

"Oh awesome, you're French?" Alfred said excitedly, still managing to come off like an excitable puppy even when covered in blood. "That's so cool! I have a half brother who was raised by a French father who then abandoned him to go back to France. I mean, he was a total douche, told my little brother he didn't love him any more and left, and poor Mattie ended up killing himself over it. So, you wouldn't happen to know this guy would you? Since you're French and all."

It took Francis a couple of seconds to realise that he'd just stepped into a very dangerous situation. The blade of that chainsaw was very sharp... "It would help if I had a name to go by, keeping in mind that I don't know _everyone_ in France, as you do not know _everyone_ in Texas."

Alfred looked contemplative. "Phillipe Fournier. Blonde hair, curled at the ends, douchey little goatee... kind of like you, actually."

Why hadn't he shaved the goatee, why, why, why? "Never met someone like that before." Francis lied, knowing he would surely get caught out and end this evening with a chainsaw shoved roughly through his torso. He waited for the inevitable buzz... None came.

"Oh." Alfred seemed quite disappointed. He was even pouting. Did he believe him? "That's too bad. Oh well, I'll keep looking then. He'll be out there somewhere."

"What are you two jabbering on about?" asked Arthur, wiping the mess from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Nothin'." Alfred said innocently. The vampire gave him a suspicious look, which only intensified when he looked at Francis.

"It was nothing, mon cher, really."

"Don't call me that." Arthur glared, but on the whole seemed much less grumpy now that he'd eaten. "I'm going to go change. You two can go to bed. Francis, I'll try to find a different solution to your problem overnight."

"Problem?" Alfred blinked, looking Francis up and down. "Seems fine to me."

Francis shrugged helplessly. "This isn't my body. I was possessing it and got stuck. As a matter of fact, I'm a ghost."

Alfred went very pale under his tan. "G-g-g-ghost?"

"Oh no." Arthur groaned. "Alfred, don't start."

"Ghost!" he cried, running halfway up the stairs and brandishing his chainsaw more as a shield than as a weapon. "Stay away from me!" And with that, he fled upstairs.

Francis turned to Arthur with a bewildered expression. "What just happened?"

The vampire shrugged, exasperated. "He's terrified of ghosts. He fears what he can't kill, or something like that. That's all there is to it." he sighed. "You have no idea how long it took me to convince him this house wasn't haunted."

"It almost is, now." Francis said, bemusedly. Arthur twitched, and started up the stairs.

"Don't say that, it won't help. Just go to bed, and hopefully we can sort this out by morning when Alfred's got some sense back in him."

The semi-ghost followed upstairs after him. "Same room as last time?"

"Whatever, they're all free." Arthur muttered, sounding nearly bitter. "I've not touched any of them. Do as you please." Francis turned and began to ascend the stairs to the upper floor, and Arthur made for the library.

"Bonne nuit, mon ami." 

"Night, Frog."


	2. Chapter 2

Something was poking him. Something was poking him on the back of the head and it was too early in the morning for this, he couldn't have had more than four hours sleep. He pulled the covers over his head and grumbled something that probably wasn't English or French or any language at all. But the poking was persistent, and was finally followed by something hard and flat hitting him on the head.

"Ow!" Francis yelped, sitting up and rubbing his sore scalp. Arthur loomed over him, eyes having returned to their natural green colour but kept their glow-in-the-dark properties. "What do you want, I'm trying to sleep."

"I've figured out your problem." the vampire said simply, waving the heavy looking book he'd woken Francis up with. "That soul vanished, correct? And you are now tethered in place, correct?"

The semi-ghost rubbed his eyes. "Oui, you told me that already."

"Let me check your pulse." he held out his hand for Francis' wrist. Wearily, he gave it to him. Arthur's large eyebrows came together in a heavier frown than he usually wore. "I thought so."

"Diagnosis?" Francis asked, half-jokingly.

"Dead upon arrival." Arthur announced, letting go of his wrist. "That body's not alive. At least, not the way bodies are meant to be. The house is heated enough for it to be nearly unnoticeable, but you are producing no body temperature of your own."

Francis stared at him. "Quoi?" It was too early for this kind of thing. He didn't understand.

"Your organs function due to your presence of mind and willpower to have such bodily... needs." Arthur's lip twitched up into a sneer, as he always did when he thought of Francis' motivation to still have a body. "You have a pulse and such. But it's not your body, and some part of the composition is rejecting you, but not enough to push you out. If we took you to a doctor, they would say you had a very strange case of hypothermia, your core temperature is so low. But there's the problem, see. You're not alive, but you're not rotting or aging. You're frozen in time. In this state, you can't die."

"Pardonnez-moi?" Blue eyes, that weren't his but apparently now _were_ , opened wide. "Do you mean this is permanent?"

"No." the shorter blonde said, to Francis' relief. "We just can't kill you. Like I said, the body is rejecting you, but not enough to push you out. _Yet_. It's a matter of time before you eventually are forced to leave that body." he shrugged, then gave a yawn, showing off sharp teeth. "How long that time is, I don't know. Could be ten, could be a hundred years. Apparently giving the soul some kind of shock is meant to help, but if you weren't shocked by what you saw Alfred do in the basement last night, I doubt that's a viable option."

Francis let out a rush of air and put his head in his hands. "Merde."

"Quite." said Arthur, primly. "Well, the sun will be up proper in half an hour, so I'm going to get ready for bed. It's seven, so you could probably stand to get up." He turned on his heel and made of the door. "Oh, and watch your step when you go out, Alfred's got a little... paranoid."

The concept of a chainsaw wielding teenage murderer was not appealing to Francis in the least. A _paranoid_ chainsaw wielding teenage murderer was hardly an improvement on this. And while Arthur had the agility to dodge most things coming his way, Francis' current and apparently permanent body was in no such shape. 

He stuck his head out of the door, and went cross-eyed.

Pulling back, it seemed that someone had hung dream catchers all along the hallway, nailed them to the ceiling roughly. There were also an assortment of symbols from various religions, a Star of David, a Islamic moon and star, a Christian cross, and a big "ohm" sticker on the wall as well. A line of salt trailed along the floor. Well, the last one would have kept him out of most places usually, but in a human body he wasn't so affected, and simply stepped over it instead. Francis wondered over Arthur's opinion of the religious symbols, but he recalled seeing the other blonde holding a cross before, so there went that idea.

Did Alfred do all this in the night? Francis hadn't heard a thing.

Shrugging, he made his way down to breakfast. The stairs were similarly covered in salt, and France was beginning to wonder where Alfred had even got this stuff from. He picked his way down, through the dining room to the kitchen, where the first rays of morning light were beginning to shine through the windows.

Alfred paused with his spoon full of cereal half way to his mouth. 

"AA-"

Francis quickly slammed a hand over his mouth. "Shh! You'll wake Arthur!" 

The younger blonde now seemed too shocked and terrified to move, wide blue eyes staring up at Francis like he expected him to suck out his soul right there and then, or something of that manner. Slowly, he moved his hand off the American's mouth, which hung open and gasped in air like a fish. It was quite an amusing sight.

"That's better." the elder blonde sighed, walking to the breadbox and picking out the sliced bread for some toast.

"Y-you're solid." stammered Alfred, cereal still hovering in the air. "But you're a ghost."

"I have a body." Francis explained patiently, though he didn't know how long he could hold that up for. He didn't add that he'd stolen it and accidentally got stuck, as that would probably only make Alfred freak out again.

"... your skin's cold." Alfred added thoughtfully. "Are you a zombie then?"

Francis wrinkled his nose in distaste at the very thought, and turned to give the teen a look. "Please, do I look like I'm a rotting, brainless corpse?"

"No, guess not. But zombies are cool." he seemed almost put out by this. "Man, all this supernatural stuff is confusing." He finally remembered to eat his cereal, then pulled a face. "Ick, soggy now."

Francis' toast popped out of the toaster and onto his plate, and he wandered over to the breakfast table to take the seat opposite Alfred. "Don't be a baby about it, it's only cereal."

"Blegh. I hate it when it's soggy." the boy pouted, seeming younger than he actually was. 

Francis bit into his buttered toast and decided immediately it could do with some jam. "Back in my day we ate what we were given and were happy for it."

"Pfft. Yes _mom_." Alfred rolled his eyes. "How old are you anyway?"

"That's an extremely rude and blunt question but I'll answer it anyway." Ah yes, it tasted much better with jam. He should probably talk to Arthur about getting proper bread, not the cheap rubbish. "I hit 522 a few months ago. I was 28 when I died. I think."

Alfred was too busy staring to notice the uncertainty at the end of Francis' sentence. "Woooahhh... you're ancient! You're older than _Arthur_."

"By about fifty years or so, yes." A smirk curled at his lips unbidden, but oh it was nice to hold that over the vampire's head. If nothing else, he had seniority. "So how old are you, Alfred?"

"Well geez, I'm only 19." the teen said, chewing on his cereal sulkily. "Turn 20 next year. Oh but hey, you know the best thing about being in England?" He grinned, fistpumping. "Legal to drink, oh yeah! I love Europe's drinking laws!"

"And legal for sex at 16." the older blonde added, avoiding the fact that the legality of his drinking was probably the least of Alfred's law-abiding worries. 

Blue eyes blinked at him, and Francis realised for the first time that Alfred wasn't wearing his glasses. It made him look a lot younger. "Really? Didn't know that one. Well, no big deal. It's not like I have. I guess I'm not that interested."

Francis' eyebrows shot up. "Not interested? A healthy young man your age?"

Alfred shrugged one shoulder, trying to look nonchalant even though a blush was creeping across his cheeks. "I mean I know all about it, I can joke and all, but looking at naked girls on the internet and stuff just doesn't do anything." He gestured helplessly, getting flustered. Oh how _precious_.

"Not boys either?" Francis pressed, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the table. 

"Nah, nothing." 

A cat-like smirk curved at Francis' mouth. "Maybe you just haven't found the right way of enjoying it?" he suggested. "It's different for everyone. Maybe normal, vanilla stuff isn't your thing."

Alfred frowned at him. "Vanilla? I don't get it, why are we talking about ice cream?"

Well would you look at that. He hadn't even made the connection. The state that Francis witnessed him in last night was certainly anything but innocent and pure, but the young boy hadn't figured out what he was looking for was right in front of him. 

Francis filed this information to one side in his mind for later.

"Never mind, it's too complicated to go into over breakfast." the Frenchman waved it off, standing and finishing off the last crust of his toast before washing his plate in the sink. "Say, do you want to go out with me today? I think we need to go shopping to get Arthur some proper food. From the smell of it that milk you're drinking is going out of date."

Alfred looked at his cereal bowl, taking in a long sniff. "S'not that bad. Doesn't have lumps in it."

\-------

It turned out that Alfred was a very helpful shopping assistant. The boy could carry eight shopping bags of food in one hand, pushing a cart full of more with his other hand. He was incredibly strong, so much so that Francis began to wonder if he was as mortal as he said he was, or if he was otherwise cursed. It also turned out that the American needed some more clothes, since he kept going through his old ones as they got stained with blood and gore and occasionally ripped when he didn't pay attention to the angle at which he swung his chainsaw. Francis was beginning to wonder how he hadn't chopped his own leg off yet. 

"Alright, let's take the groceries back to the car first and then we can stop for lunch before getting some clothes for you." he said aloud, looking up at the gray sky. Not that that was much of an indication of if it would rain; it was October in England and that meant a semi-permanent overcast until May, but he didn't want to get caught in the rain. 

"Uhh, my hands are full, can you fish my keys out of my back pocket?" Alfred twisted, trying to look at his own back to indicate where the keys were. "Left one, er, my left, I mean."

From anyone else, that kind of line would be a come on. Rolling his eyes, Francis took the keys from the pocket (but not without copping a feel. Firm, round, _nice_ ) and pressed the button that made the lights flash and car beep. Genius little invention. He popped the back of the car open, and watched Alfred swing the plastic bags inside. Francis placed the bread in with a little more care.

"Dude, what is it with you and bread." Alfred asked suddenly, giving him an odd look. "You're holding that thing like your first born."

"I used to be a baker. I know a lot about bread." Francis replied, shifting his hold on the loaf regardless. "And other kinds of baking of course, but bread is one of my favourites."

"Oh awesome, can you show me how to make some?" the teen asked, excitable puppy status returning once more. "Or even better, how to make cakes and stuff? _Can you make homemade hamburgers?_ " he stressed, leaning forwards, clearly without the concept of personal space.

"I'm capable, yes." said Francis, taking a step back. "But do you mean to say you don't know how to cook?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm a teenager. I order take out." Alfred shrugged, closing the door of the back of the car and taking the keys from Francis to lock it. "Okay, let's go get this clothes shopping thing over with. Need some new jeans anyway."

\-------

Shopping for clothes with Alfred was considerably less enjoyable than food shopping. For one thing, while Alfred took a massive interest in food, he wasn't so concerned about his appearance. When Francis offered him a shirt or a jacket or some jeans, the teen would only shrug and say "yeah" or "mm" or "whatever". After three more shops, Francis was about ready to snap.

"Look, at least try these on, alright? Then we can go home." he said irritably. The taller blonde held up his hands defensively and took the clothes from him.

"Alright, alright, geez. Chill." grumbling, he ducked into one of the changing stalls. Francis sighed and leaned against the wall. It was nearly three now; they'd been out all day. He wanted to be back before Arthur woke up at sundown so he could have a cooked meal ready. The curtain behind him rattled at it was pulled aside, and Alfred's slightly grumpy voice asked "How about it?"

The jeans fitted well, shaping nicely around his legs and flaring out at the bottom around his Doc Martens, and when he turned around- damn, nice ass. Francis wasn't usually so bluntly vulgar in his thoughts, but all that running after people must have made Alfred's lower body muscles killer. His shirt was a little bit oversized, but the way it hung slightly off one shoulder (as designed) and exposed his clavicle was simply delicious. The long sleeves were baggy, but when he moved his arms Francis could see up them to rows of densely packed muscle. He shrugged on a leather jacket - brown, not black, that was tacky - and gave himself a look in the mirror.

"It's good." Francis said, nodding in approval. "It's very good. We're getting you a few more of those shirts. And some spare jeans." His appraisal made Alfred blush, looking down at himself as though he could try to see what Francis found so interesting.

"Well, okay, if you say so."

"I do say so. Come on, let's get these to the checkout."

The lady scanning the items was plain enough, but friendly. It seemed she'd newly started the job, as she fumbled her way through the keys on the till with a slightly nervous laugh. Francis assured her she didn't have to rush, to take her time. Alfred said nothing. While she tried to fix a mistake she'd made, Francis glanced over at the taller teen.

He was smiling.

If Francis hadn't just spent the whole day with the boy, he probably would have assumed he was just happy to get new clothes. But when Alfred smiled, he tended to smile with his whole body, hands gesturing and straight white teeth showing and eyes crinkling. But this smile was different, subtly off. His eyes were open and trained on the till girl as she became more flustered over the price tag. They tracked her every movement like a cat watching a mouse with it's tail caught in a trap. Not pouncing. Not yet. 

"Alfred." he murmured, catching the boy's attention but not his eye. "Her?"

The teen made a wordless humming noise, smile twitching wider. Finally all the clothes were packed into a bag. 

"That'll be £79.45, sorry for the wait." the girl apologised, flushed in the face. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, can I have your number?" asked Alfred cheekily, winking at her. She seemed surprised, but giggled, putting her hands to her mouth. 

"I'm not- not really supposed to with customers." she said from behind her fingers, biting her lip timidly. "Um..."

"Go on, there's no-one in here but me and him, and _he's_ not gonna tell on ya, are ya Francis?" Alfred grinned over at him. 

"Why would I?" Francis replied, shrugging and smiling to himself. "Just write it down on the receipt."

Blushing heavily and checking behind her for her superiors, she hastily scribbled down her cell phone number. "Um, what's your name?" she asked, boldly for someone who seemed so naturally timid. "I'm Becky."

The blonde teen mimed tipping a hat. "Alfred, and it's been a pleasure. When do you finish work?"

"We close at five." 

"Awesome, how about I pick you up and we go out." he grinned, raising his eyebrows, all western cowboy on the ranch. "It's a Friday night and I know a couple of clubs that you can dance till you drop in." Francis thought his choice of words was a bit obvious, but maybe that was only because he knew what he knew. The girl, Becky, seemed absolutely besotted with him already.

"O-okay, I'll see you then!" she called after them as they exited the shop.

They walked a little way back towards the car park before Francis spoke. "Is that how you do it every time?"

"Nah, every time is different. Makes it fun!" Alfred laughed. He seemed jittery with excitement, walking with a spring in his step. "Oh man this is going to be great, I can't wait. This'll be the third in a row, can you believe it! I wonder if Arthur will let me have her all to myself..."

"I doubt it, somehow." the Frenchman said dryly. Arthur was a greedy man, probably was before his vampirism as well.

"Yeah, well, I can dream, can't I?" chuckled the teen, spinning around with arms out like a child. "Ahh~! Life is good!" he cried to the sky, the sunset behind the clouds providing no red glow, just a simple darkening of the sky. "Okay I'll drop you off home and then come back, alright? Sorry Francis, but you'd kind of be a third wheel."

"I prefer the term 'wing man', but d'accord, we'll go home. Then I can make dinner for when you get back as well." The Frenchman said, getting into the car and putting the clothes bags on the back seat. "You can even wear your new clothes for this."

"Oh sweet, yeah, that's right." Alfred chuckled, starting up the car and reversing out of the parking space. "And wouldn't that be sweet for her to see me wearing? Her last act was to sell me them, and the last thing she'll see is me wearing them! It's almost romantic."

Francis gave the American boy a long look. "You pick up victims the same way other people pick up dates." He mused. Alfred shrugged one shoulder.

"I said before I'm not interested like that. It's different." he insisted, but didn't specify _how_ it was different. Probably, Francis suspected, because he didn't know. Probably because it wasn't. "It's more like a game than a date thing. My most favourite game in the whole world. You ever been to Vegas?" The last question seemed to come out of the blue. Francis nodded slowly. "Then you've seen the folks there, playing game after game because it gives them that thrill like they're really alive, on the edges of their seats with hearts pounding!" He swerved sharply towards the side of the road, and then back on again, laughing as they barely brushed a tree. "Haha, see! Blood's pumpin' now, ain't it!" 

Francis' heartbeat was indeed pummeling the inside of his ribcage. He knew he wasn't going to die, but he certainly didn't want to be an immortal with a broken spine. 

"It's kind of a bonus for the game if I can pick up someone who's never had that kind of thrill." Alfred added, obeying the traffic laws now. "Save them from their dull life. I mean, if you're not having fun you might as well be dead, right?" He paused. "No offense."

"None taken."

"So yeah, I guess in a way I'm doing them a favor. Heroics and all. Risking my tail for their happiness." he laughed, a free sound, uninhibited. "But I'll admit I do it mostly for my own enjoyment. Call me selfish, but it's just too much fun!"

Francis could call Alfred a lot of things besides selfish. 

\------

The kitchen was like a holy ground after that ride in the car back with Alfred. For one thing the floor stayed still and didn't threaten to throw him into trees when he got bored. An excitable Alfred was just as dangerous as a bored Alfred. He set to work chopping up the vegetables for dinner even if he had a hunch that Alfred wouldn't eat them unless they were deep fried. Why did everyone he meet have absolutely no taste?

"Where's Alfred?" asked Arthur, appearing in the doorway with his usual bed-head hair. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stretched, black silk pajama shirt riding up to show off yet more pale skin.

"Found another target, probably having a lot of fun right now." he explained, sweeping the tomatoes to one side and starting on the potatoes. 

"He'd better bring some back for me." the vampire muttered snootily. "I give him free room and board and that's meant to be his payment."

"I'm sure he will, mon cher, don't you worry." Francis assured absently, checking on the steaks he had in the pan. "You still like yours rare, oui?"

"Have I changed in any other way over the past 500 years?" he snarked back, sitting down on one of the seats at the breakfast table. "Should I stir the sauce for you?"

"Merci!" chirped Francis, smiling over at him. Arthur got up and started gently using the wooden spoon to stir the stock gravy. They continued on in oddly companionable silence for a while, before Arthur spoke up again.

"Didn't disturb you too much, did he?" The question was spoken like a snide remark, but still failed to come off as unconcerned as the shorter vampire tried to pretend he was. "Alfred can be a little off. Unusual. He has a talent for making people feel very comfortable around him and then surprising them out of the blue with how completely off his rocker he is." Green eyes flicked up to look at him. "I know you're slightly saner than a few others I could mention of our little network of oddities."

"Oddities. What a nice word for a bunch of freaks like us." Francis chuckled quietly. "I'll admit he was a little disconcerting when he tried to demonstrate how life was meant to be about fun by nearly ramming us into a tree..."

"The little bastard." Arthur growled. "That's my sodding car!"

"He's got good control over it, though." the lull in conversation came again, and it was Francis' turn to break it. "I think when I realised he'd brought the chainsaw with him the whole time, that was when I started to get a little... worried. It was sitting underneath his seat the whole time. He didn't need to go into the house to get it." He snorted. "I'm an undead nymphomaniac and even then, he disturbs me."

"Nymphomaniac? They have a special _word_ for whore these days?" Arthur smirked. Francis brandished the spatula at him, prepared to show him just what a whore could do with such an implement.

"Honey, I'm hoooome!" came Alfred's cry as the front door slammed. Something heavy thumped to the ground in the hallway a few seconds before a blonde head stuck around the corner. "What's cookin' good lookin'?"

"Steak, potatoes and salad." Francis said, checking the state of Arthur's cut before deciding it was cooked but rare enough and moving it onto a waiting plate. "How do you like yours?"

Alfred looked like Christmas had come early. "Ohh, ooh, I've not had steak for ages! Arthur can't cook for taffy. Well-done, please!" 

"Then yours will take a little longer. Go make our guest comfortable downstairs while I finish up."

"You're the chef!" cheered the teen, disappearing back around the corner and picking something up, thumping off down the stairs. Arthur was staring after him, lips pursed. His eyes were dimly red, but fading back to their usual colour.

"Non, non, non, you're not eating from her now, you'll spoil your dinner." Francis lectured, tipping his own steak onto a plate. "Dish up the potatoes and salad, and add your blood vial thing to the gravy _after_ you pour it on your plate, not before. Not everyone here likes the taste of blood."

It was somewhat immature of Arthur to mime Francis' talking with his hand while pulling such an irritated face. Maybe hanging out with Alfred for too long had rubbed off on his 500 year old friend.

"By the way," Francis added, finally putting Alfred's steak on a plate and passing it to Arthur to put the vegetables on. "How long has Alfred been here now?"

Arthur seemed to do the maths in his head. "Nearly six months now. That boy must be blessed or cursed; nobody's noticed the rise in missing persons since he came here."

"Maybe because it's the same as when you were hunting on your own?" the Frenchman suggested, picking up his own plate and Alfred's as they moved through into the dining room. The table was big enough to seat 30 people, but he placed the plates around the corner on the end so conversation was possible. 

"Can't be right. I only get starved enough to hunt every three days." he explained, folding his arms and leaning his head out of the door to the hallway to call. "Alfred! Dinner!" He ducked back in. "If you do the math, I'm getting fed every other day instead of once every three or maybe four days."

Alfred skipped into the room, beaming widely. "Which one's mine, which one's mine?"

"Far left, I'm on the right, Arthur you're at the head of the table." Francis pointed them out, setting down the knifes and forks for them. Alfred pounced on his food with the vigor of a starving man. Arthur and Francis were a little more refined as they sat down, Arthur pouring his little blood vial all over his food so he'd be able to get it down. Francis knew for a fact it wasn't that he didn't like the taste of food, but more that his body wouldn't accept anything solid until it had tasted blood. 

"So, what's she like?" Arthur asked, finishing a mouthful before he spoke. As though he was still a proper gentleman.

"Mmph, B-negative, ain't that cool? Hard to find, those." mumbled Alfred around more food than one should probably be able to fit in one's mouth without choking. He swallowed loudly. "Brown hair, blue eyes, clear and healthy skin."

"And clearly not the brightest bulb in the box." Francis chuckled. "How did you find out her blood type?"

"Asked her?" Alfred said like it was obvious. "Lots of people are into that kind of thing these days. It's meant to determine your compatibility and some crazy shit like that."

"What's your blood type then?" Arthur asked in a distant sort of way. The American grinned at him.

"Hey hey, was that a come on?" He laughed when Arthur spluttered incoherently. "O positive. Ain't I special?" He gestured with his fork that the shorter man. "How 'bout you, Arthur? What's your blood type?"

"V." Arthur answered primly, a light blush across his face.

Blue eyes blinked. "What?"

"V. Vampire. We have blood that has very different properties to human's, and thus, our own blood type." he explained, setting down his knife and fork. "The main difference being that if a human were to drink even a single drop of my blood, they would become a vampire. Furthermore, as a vampire sired by me, they would be under my command and control."

"For the first hundred years." Francis added. The look he received would wither flowers. 

"Cool." was Alfred's only response, bouncing up and down in his seat with an empty plate. He looked at Arthur in askance, until the vampire sighed.

"Oh alright, go get changed into something you didn't just buy today though." 

Alfred let out a whoop and dashed from the table with inhuman speed, which reminded Francis of something he wanted to ask Arthur. 

"Are you sure he's human? He's stronger and faster than any mortal I've ever met in my life." A light frown appeared. He couldn't figure it out; it wasn't as though Alfred was an overly muscled boy, he seemed quite lean at first glance. "Picks up that chainsaw like it's nothing, runs fast as an athlete but doesn't seem to train, what's different?"

Arthur hummed to himself. "I can't detect any curses nor blessings on him, and his physiology is 100% human. He appears to be what you would call 'a freak of nature'." He stood from the table. "But that's neither here nor there. I'm getting changed out of my bed clothes before we get started. You can take the plates to the kitchen."

When had Francis become the house maid? "See you in a minute."

It didn't take long to wash up the plates and cooking appliances (the invention of the dish washer was a glorious moment in time) and so, with nothing to do, Francis wandered down to the basement, assuming the other two would already be there. It surprised him when he happened upon the room with neither of his companions there. But Alfred seemed to have taken the order to make their guest "comfortable" at literally as possible. She was knocked out but unrestrained, resting on a mound of pillows and a slightly old looking mattress. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but she didn't seem to be injured, and as Francis stepped off the last stair, her eyes fluttered open. 

"Bonsoir." he greeted. She groaned, shifting on the pillow pile. "If I remember right, your name is Becky, is it not?"

"Who're..." she mumbled, and Francis began to suspect that Alfred had drugged her. How crude. 

"You only met me this afternoon, mon cher." Francis chuckled, stepping forward across the room. Alfred was right, she did have very clear skin. For someone so average, she kept herself in good condition. "And I trust you got to know mon ami, Alfred."

Her face pinched into a frown, trying to remember. "Fra..." she started, but trailed off when she began to sit up too fast.

"Francis, oui, well done." He crouched in front of her, pushing her hair out of her face. Well, if one wasn't so picky as he was, she would be a wonderful catch. The door at the top of the basement opened, and heavy foot falls landed on the stairs. Francis sighed. "Well, mon petite, this is most unfortunate. I should have loved to get to know you better, but our time, or I should say your time, has run short." He stood, and turned to watch Arthur coming down the stairs, closely followed by Alfred, who was wearing some already bloodstained clothes and a grin so wide it nearly split his face in half.

"Hey now, Francis, hands off." he gestured, swinging the chainsaw round and round. "That ain't yours."

"I was under the impression that we shared and shared alike in this house?" Francis said, but stepped away from the girl regardless. 

"You're not soiling _my_ meal, Frog." Arthur snipped at him. Francis mockingly put his hands up in surrender. 

"Alright, alright, I'll move out of your way." he chuckled, stepping aside, until he felt something grab his foot. Looking down, it seemed that the girl, Becky, was the culprit. "Cheri, you'll have to let me go."

"What's going on?" she asked, voice trembling as her eyes went wider, staring from him, to Alfred's attire and chainsaw, and back at him. "Where am I? Who are you people?"

"Well you know me." chirped Alfred, cheerful as ever. "This grumpy old bat here is Arthur, and that over there is Francis who you've also met." He beamed. "And yeah, we're gonna kill ya."

Arthur whacked the boy upside the head, eliciting a pained whine from him. "Do you have to be so blunt about everything?" 

"Hey, it's just the truth." Alfred pouted. Becky was making tiny terrified noises, trying to get her legs under her. Suddenly, she bolted, running past Francis and making for the stairs, but as she dodged past Alfred, he grabbed her long brown hair, causing her to shriek and slip, falling backwards until the was only held up by Alfred's grip on her auburn locks. "Woah, speedy." Alfred was much taller than she was, and when he lifted his arm up, she dangled an inch off the floor by her hair, screaming and twisting and kicking her legs. "Where do you think _you're_ going?"

"P-please," she sobbed, tears running down her face. "please let me go, I won't tell anyone, please!" Alfred dropped her, making her stumble and fall to the ground with a cry. Stepping over and straddling her, the American teen ignored her scratching at his legs and crying, trying to push him off her. "Help!" she screeched, and Francis stuck his fingers in his ears from the sheer pitch of it. "Help, someone! _Anyone!_ "

"Oh do get on with it, Alfred." Arthur snapped, chewing on his bottom lip with anticipation. "I'm hungry."

"Liar, you ate yesterday." the younger blonde laughed, starting the motor on the chainsaw with a flourish. Becky's thrashing became even more frantic, but Alfred didn't even twitch, unmovable. He turned the chainsaw so the point faced down towards her chest, gave a whoop of glee, and plunged downwards into her chest.

The mess was amazing. Alfred threw back his head and laughed, spray coating him head to toe in red, flecks of white bone flying off to stick to him as well. He twisted the chainsaw, trying to make the hole bigger, while the girl's hands pawed weakly at his thighs and mouth worked silently, air gone and blood bubbling up instead. Alfred got off her, stood over her still and dragged the chainsaw down from her chest to her stomach, and the spray of blood and chunks of organ suddenly doubled as he hit several main arteries. The girl's eyes rolled back into her head; either she'd fainted or she'd died, it didn't matter, because Alfred's next target was her head anyway. Francis had lived(?) through enough wars to know exactly what a decimated cranium looked like, so it was at this point he averted his eyes, but not his ears. Oddly, he'd always associated this kind of sound with what happened when you smashed a watermelon open.

The chainsaw ran out of steam about the same time as Alfred did, sitting on the floor besides the mutilated corpse in a pool of blood that wasn't his, panting and giggling breathlessly. 

"Oh man," he uttered. "that was awesome."

Francis looked over at Arthur, who was twitching slightly on the spot, mouth half open and face oddly flushed. Much more calmly than yesterday, he walked over, picked up a severed arm, and calmly started biting at it, drawing blood in the same casual manner any other person would eat chicken off the bone. "Mmm." he hummed contentedly, relaxing. "B-negative. Always a little sweet, but not unpleasant." 

"What're you, a wine taster?" laughed Alfred, licking his finger and grimacing. "Ick. It's salty, not sweet."

"Your tastes are so unrefined you can't tell the difference between pork and beef, never mind the subtle differences in blood type." How Arthur could maintain his stuck up attitude while snacking on a severed limb was sometimes a bit beyond Francis. "Anyway, set up the legs so they'll drip into the B-negative pot in the corner, the rest we can clean up later-"

Before he could finish, the ground trembled.

"Woah- what the?!" shouted Alfred, looking around. "Earthquake!"

"We don't have those in England!" Arthur yelled back. Then, in the middle of the room, a hole opened up, fire licking out around the edges, the heat wave from it intense and making Francis' eyes water as he staggered back. A hand reached out of the hellish portal, rising up, showing a hooded person wielding a silver trident. A black, hairless tail whipped around his legs as he rose from the abyss, the floor finally closing up from underneath him as he dropped to the ground.

"Everybody remain calm, awesome has arrived!" announced a voice that Francis knew very well. "100 people murdered in one room by one guy, and I'm here for an awesome inspection into the gritty details, courtesy of Hell and the Dark Lord himself! Hold off the autographs until later!"

"Gilbert?" Francis gaped. The man looked over at him, pushing his hood back a little to reveal white hair and red eyes and a shocked expression.

"Francis? That you?" the demon's mouth hung open in surprise. "The fuck are you doing here?"

"Oh wonderful." grumbled Arthur, still holding on to the severed arm and chewing the bone idly. "It's you again."

"Heeeeeey~! Artie!" Gilbert chirped happily. "Still got that vampire thing going for you, awesome."

"Go to hell."

"I would, but I got a job to do." he swung his trident round and pointed it at Alfred, who was watching with wide eyes. "You! Mister crazy murderer, you and I gotta talk."

"Me?" Alfred pointed to himself, looking innocent despite still being slick with blood.

Gilbert grinned widely, showing off pointed teeth. "Did I stutter? Yeah, you. How would you like to join the legions of hell? We got a great dental plan."


	3. Chapter 3

Silence fell.

Arthur went still, forgetting his meal entirely, staring open mouthed at Gilbert and the circle that had been charred into the ground from his entrance. Was that a pentagram he’d burned permanently into the basement floor? Francis was trying to think of what to say to his once-friend. Hello? Long time no see? When did you die and become a soldier for the legions of the damned? How did you still recognise me like this?

Luckily, Alfred was there with his loud voice to break the stalemate. “Er, Arthur?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the demon in front of him.

“Yes, Alfred?” the vampire said after a pause.

“Why does the devil look like he was dragged backwards though Hot Topic?”

Francis couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. Arthur snorted and covered his mouth to hide his amusement, which Alfred seemed genuinely bemused as to how a demon could be wearing a hoodie with a skull stitched on it, some quite tight jeans and running shoes. Gilbert’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, a red flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Sh-shut up!” was his final, coherent response. Francis tried to control himself.

“He has a point, mon ami.” he chuckled. Arthur smirked.

“Yes, whatever happened to that flowing black cloak you used to sport not one hundred years ago? I’m sure that was much more fetching.” he snarked, flapping the severed limb at the demon, who only gritted his teeth and blushed harder.

“Shut the fuck up you vampiric little shit, the day when I come back for your eternally damned soul will be fun for only one of us.” he snarled, tail thrashing back and forth. Arthur leaned forward challengingly, the stance of a predator with a grin full of sharp teeth.

“If you want it, come and get it, wanker.” he growled back. Francis stepped between the two.

“Not right now, merci.” he held his hands up, as two on either side of him looked annoyed. “Don’t you have other business to attend to?”

Gilbert blinked twice, and remembered. “Oh yeah! Anyway, you, Alfred F. Jones, serial killer extraordinaire, how about it?”

Said teen looked like a deer in headlights for a moment. “Er, I...” he stopped, and thought about it. “Why would you want me?”

The demon snorted. “Because you’re good at killing things. Wrath is a pretty freaky Sin, but I’m sure she’d be happy to have you. Not really my department, but hey, I was sitting around, so they sent me on up here.”

“What’s your department?” asked Alfred, leaning forward as though interested.

“Pride. I think your department is asking too many questions.” He stepped out of the circle, and the ground charred and in some places caught fire where he stood. “It’s a yes or no question, kid, not that hard.”

The pondering expression on Alfred’s face might have been adorable if he weren’t covered in blood. “Umm.” he hummed for a moment, drawing it out. “No.”

“Great, then we- wait, what?” Gilbert seemed quite thrown by this response, staring at the blood covered teen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Y’know, because ‘burn in hell’ is generally considered a bad thing?” the blonde gestured slightly, flicking blood everywhere from where it dripped off his fingers. “Besides which I still got stuff to do. A person to find. And, you know, brutally tear limb from limb and then set fire to.”

Francis swallowed silently. Gilbert’s red eyes darted his way momentarily, before he sighed, scratching the back of his head in exasperation. “Well this blows. I was kind of hoping I’d get a promotion for this. I only need one more damned soul before I get an upgrade. Scheisse. Nothing that’ll convince you? Gold, women, food?”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Alfred shrugged, but grinned, brilliant white teeth standing out against the red. “I’m sure you’ll find that last soul somewhere.”

“Well, your loss.” The albino demon snorted. “What the fuck ever, I’m out of here. Francis, finish up with that body whenever and come on down, hang out, ja? And Arthur, I’ll be back for you later.”

“I await the day with baited breath.” Arthur said sarcastically.

Gilbert flipped him the bird, and the ground started shaking again, a circle of black fire that seemed to absorb light rather than give it off appearing at his feet. “Later losers!” cackled the demon, sinking down into the ground with a rumble, until the hole closed up, and the flames were extinguished.

As soon as it was, Arthur threw his now drained severed arm at the circle where Gilbert had stood. As soon as it touched it, it went up in the same black flames as before. “Well, he’s managed to ruin my basement until the next lunar cycle.” he sighed, turning towards the stairs. “I think it would be best if you laid off the killings for a while, Alfred.”

The teenager whined like a child. “But Arthuuuuur...”

The vampire was unaffected. “Gilbert, as much as I hate to say it, had a point. 100 people in 6 months; people are definitely going to start noticing, if they haven’t already.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised this isn’t international news by now.” Francis added, folding his arms. “How are you doing it?”

Alfred shrugged. “I dunno. I’m good at getting people that nobody would miss.” He grinned slightly. “Though Arthur complains if I bring home hobos.” The man in question sniffed haughtily, walking up the stairs in a silent huff. Alfred chuckled at him, getting up and shaking his hands off so he wouldn’t drip blood too badly all over the house. Arthur always yelled if he did that. “Well, that’s enough weirdness for me tonight. I’m going to bed. See ya, Francis.”

“Good night, Alfred.” the Frenchman replied, watching the murderer ascend the stairs. Making sure he didn’t look back at the butchered body, Francis, too, went back to the hallway, but decided he wasn’t tired enough to go to bed. The large, antique clock in the hallway told him it was 11:30pm, a sensible enough time to be still awake. With that in mind, he turned towards the door across the hallway from the dining room. Last he had been here, it was a library, a normal one, unlike Arthur’s collection of the occult in the basement. He turned the door handle and poked his head in.

As always, the sheer size of the rooms in Arthur’s house were a little staggering, especially when one had ceilings so high as they were, and bookshelves tall enough to need ladders that slid along on wheels to get to the top shelves. It was clear what were Arthur’s favourites, as many of the books were slightly more dusty but new-looking than other, more well worn tomes. There were several sofas and chairs all positioned around a fireplace, jutting out of the wall and well kept so the embers wouldn’t escape and damage the books. Aside from the fire, there was a reading lamp on, hanging over where one of the chairs was occupied. Arthur wasn’t currently reading a book, though there was one on the table beside him, but instead was engaged in another activity which quite surprised Francis.

“Where did you get a cat from?” he asked, walking into the room and shutting the door. It was a ginger, fluffy thing, and as he came closer it opened one eye from where it had closed them in contentment. Grey-blue tracked him as he moved closer to the fireplace.

“Hmm, she followed me home one day a few years ago.” the vampire sounded quite relaxed with the cat in his lap. “I killed her owner in a fit of hunger, and she just followed me wherever I went, didn’t you Bess?” he scratched under her chin, and Francis could hear her purr from where he was standing.

Wait...

“ _Bess_?” he asked, surprised. “You actually named her-”

“Shut up, she was already called that when I got her.” Arthur snapped at him, looking over at the fire. “She comes in here and sits on me after I’ve fed because my body generates more warmth than your average human. It only happens when I’m still digesting the blood, though. She’ll clear off when I’ve gone stone cold again.”

“A shallow affair, then?” Francis smirked. Arthur picked up the book and held it threateningly.

“Piss off, Frog, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Francis sat down in the chair across from his “friend”, looking up at the titles on the wall. The whole Harry Potter series. Why was he not surprised. “I’m not tired yet. Strange, since I’ve been so busy today. You’re staying up longer than usual as well, with the days getting longer and all.”

“I like winter. I can actually go to the shops while they’re still open.” Arthur replied, watching Bess stretch and stand from his lap, jumping off and gracefully making her way out of the room. “Hmph. That’s her gone.”

“And then what, you actually talk to people?” Francis’ comment was met with a venomous green glare.

“I’m beginning to wonder why I haven’t kicked you out of my house.”

“Somewhere in your dried up little heart, you love me really, mon cher.” the ghost winked. Arthur looked like he’d just stepped on a bug. A bug that had exploded all over his bare feet, with sticky green slime and crunchy shell bits.

“No.”

“You lie to yourself almost as well as you lie to other people.” Francis chuckled, reaching over for the book at Arthur’s side. He scanned the cover, eyebrows raising. “Boethius? How long have you been into philosophy?”

“I’m bored.” grumbled Arthur, leaning an elbow on the armrest of his chair, resting his head on his hand. “I’m nearly always bored. It’s something to think about.”

Francis sat back in his newly adopted chair, and looked at the other seats scattered around the room. Very few of them matched, seeming like they’d been brought in over time as more and more people needed them. Most of them were pushed into corners now, just the too-heavy-to-move-alone sofa and two arm chairs he and Arthur were sitting in left next to the fire. On the mantelpiece were a few pictures. Painted, not taken with a camera; Arthur would never show up on film so easily. They were mostly of the vampire on his own, over the ages, in various different forms of dress. He stood from his chair, going over to look at the A4 size portraits. Francis could say what he liked to Arthur just to rile him up, but the painters he’d hired captured the smooth line of his jaw and shape of his nose wonderfully, long neck sometimes covered with a ruff, but skin always a pale white. The healthy red taint must have been artistic license; Arthur himself never looked healthy, either stark white or blushing bright red, never in between. Though, in the glow of the reading lamp and the fire, he could almost be mistaken for human, if it were not for how unnaturally still he was.

“I’m afraid, mon cher, that I am now bored as well.” Francis announced. “So I think I shall head to bed myself. Bon nuit.”

“Night.” Arthur mumbled to himself, still staring at the fire. Francis left him behind in the library, going up the stairs and down the west hallway, feet padding lightly on the carpeted floor so as not to wake Alfred. It was then that he noticed something. At the end of the hall, there was a door slightly ajar. It wasn’t Francis’, and he was fairly sure Alfred was too paranoid to leave a door open like that, so quietly, he peeked in.

The room was a cluttered mess, boxes piled up haphazardly. A wardrobe full of clothes was wide open, and from what Francis could see it was full of Arthur’s clothes. He stepped a little further into the room, minding where he was stepping carefully. There were dusty books and bags of clothes and pictures all over the place, some of which had the canvasses ripped to shreds until the picture was unrecognisable. The Frenchman nearly tripped over a box full of old books, and squinted at them in the dim moonlight that shone through the window.

‘Diary’ said the front cover.

He really shouldn’t look at it. But the whole box was full of them, and the next one over, all in different sizes, colours and shapes, some leather-bound, some with spirals for spines, some just pieces of old paper bound together with string, covers long lost. Tentatively, Francis picked up the one he’d tripped over, and turned to the first page he could.

_January 23rd, 1854  
Food is easy to come by this month, which is a welcome treat, since I recently sired Daniel (he insists to be called Li Shui still, but we’ll see how long that lasts) and he’s absolutely ravenous nearly all hours of the night. I worry for Brooke; his last meal disagreed with him something chronic, he was violently ill for hours.  
Still no sign of Alfred. Matthew is still not speaking, without his best friend._

Surprised, Francis stared at the page. Was Alfred a vampire after all? But he showed no tendencies, no lust for blood aside from the disturbing need to get it all over himself. Intrigued, he turned a few paged on.

 _August 12th, 1866_  
I loathe summer every time it comes around. It’s difficult to hunt and my coven is starving. Brooke nearly wandered outside at dawn a fortnight ago; it was lucky he had Katherine there to pull him back inside before he could get badly burned.  
Maya is being troublesome again. Easily sorted out. But really, should an older woman such as herself be so prone to tantrums?  
Asrai claimed she’d summoned a demon in the early hours of the morning, but we couldn’t find any evidence but a charred circle on the ground.  
Yet another year without Alfred. Soon, it will be a century. I fear he’s...

The entry stopped there. Francis turned to another page, entranced by this life of Arthur’s that he’d never really known.

 _July 1st, 1867_  
Matthew went missing before the rest of the house had even woken up. We all searched everywhere we could think of, but had to come inside as the sun came up. I can only hope that he has found somewhere safe to sleep. We shall double our search tomorrow night.  
No Alfred.

July 4th, 1877  
Found Matthew. He was at Land’s End, sitting on a cliff and staring at the sea. George found him, and took him back home. He still hasn’t spoken, but he was crying when we brought him inside. He had a few burns, but was otherwise fine.  
100 years without Alfred.  
I am beginning to lose hope. If what he really said about telling the hunters about us was true, why hasn’t he come back with them? If they’ve killed him... I don’t know what I’ll do.

Francis put the book down, having reached the last page, and thought for a moment. So, Arthur had sired a young vampire called Alfred, who had supposedly sold them out to the hunters, but then ran away and never came back. This explained Arthur’s unusual attachment to the human Alfred, if it was only in name alone. He reached for the next book in the box, checking it was the next chronologically as well.

 _November 5th, 1877_  
The younger ones really enjoyed the fireworks. Strapping that poor chap to the St Cathrine Wheel might have been a bit much, though. His leg flew off and nearly set the rose bushes on fire. Adeeva had to put them out with water from the river, tripped, and spilled some on herself.  
No Alfred. He loved fireworks.

Francis skipped through the book, scanning dates. At the end of every entry, there was always something about this Alfred boy. Arthur was clearly obsessed with him, or else constantly worrying as a parent would. Or maybe as a lover, who knew. Francis hadn’t read that far back, to when he’d been sired. He reached the end of the book with little interesting things apart from siring yet more vampires. How many did Arthur intend to collect? He found his answer when he opened the next volume.

 _January 1st, 1901_  
Gave Brooke permission to lead his first hunt on his own. He performed well. I may give him similar duties to Matthew, though I doubt he’ll carry them out so quietly, at least he has proven himself responsible enough to handle the task.

October 15th, 1912  
Henry said he sighted wolves around the property. He claimed they were much too big for normal animals, nearly the size of automobiles. If this is true, we could be in for a fight. Thankfully, we will easily outnumber them.

January 21st, 1919  
Just when I thought we’d got rid of the wolves, Aine vanished without a trace. While I am confident my sister dear is able to handle herself alone, the wolves are still out there, if weakened.  
I worry. Nobody ever knows how much.

July 11th, 1921  
Found Aine’s head.  
The cut was not from the claws of a wolf, or any other beast. There was a clove of garlic in her mouth, and a bloodied stake lying next to it.  
James fancied that she’d become a dullahan, riding headless in the night and splashing fools who opened their doors to her with blood. Darren laughed, but we both know it is far from funny.  
If it wasn’t the wolves, it must have been the hunters.

Francis took a brief breather from the book, blinking around at an old family portrait. He’d known that Arthur had turned his siblings from the very start, but he had never heard that Aine had died so brutally. He thought she’d left. Turning the pages, he read on.

 _April 19th, 1930_  
They’re slipping through my fingers, no matter how tightly I hold on to them. My control weakens every day, time decaying the bond. Only a few are staying loyal as they were before. I sometimes entertain a vain hope that it is out of love, but in reality they likely know they are too weak to go out on their own.  
Matthew visits often. Says he’s started anew in Canada, up north where the days are darker.  
He also said he was looking for Alfred still. I admire his determination, but it is clearly causing him more heartache than necessary.  
All the same, I can’t forget him either.  
I hope that wherever he is, he’s at least happy. Not knowing is what puts me ill at ease the most. 

There was nothing for a few pages, blank space, before it seemed that someone had spilled blood all over the book. It was crusted brown and crumbling with age, but the stain remained. Underneath it, were some hastily scribbled words, Arthur’s spidery handwriting becoming even more difficult to read.

 _August 25th, 1937_  
They found us.

And that was it, for nearly the entire rest of the book, which was soaked through with blood, dry now but stained beyond use. But it became less and less and by the back page the paper was an old, musty yellow again, this time with a paragraph written on the last page, in the middle and without the usual attention to grammar and spelling.

_they’re all gone.  
fled or dead they’ve all gone  
damn them  
damn them all to hell._

Francis closed the diary. It seemed there were newer ones around, but he didn’t really want to think any more about such things. He looked up, behind the boxes, and noticed a large painting. Curious, he leaned over to look.

It was impressive for an artist to have painted so many people in such detail. Francis could tell every one of them apart, Arthur sitting in the middle of the library, surrounded by others on chairs. Maya, the Indian woman, held a smile as mysterious as the Mona Lisa, and behind her, Aine looked towards the window, red hair catching the light. James leant on the mantle of the fireplace with a cocky grin, Darren standing behind Arthur’s chair with a neutral expression. Many, many others filled the library, a few of them children, Brooke sitting casually on the sofa next to a boy he recognised as Matthew, who had a small girl in his lap, presumably Asrai. A few of the coven had darker skin, but the artist had gone for realism, and none of them looked particularly alive. They all looked outwards of the picture, staring at Francis as though their combined gaze could force them back into reality.

But they were dead. From the smallest beaming child to James with his laughing face, older than Arthur himself by way of being his older brother. They were all dead.

Swallowing, he pulled the painting forward to see what was behind it.

Alfred stared back.

The likeness was uncanny. The boy in the picture was perhaps a little younger than the 19 year old Francis himself knew, and he didn’t wear glasses, but his eyes were a bright blue, and his smile as wide and innocent. His nose was a slightly different shape, and his jawline wasn’t as strong, but they were so similar, practically dead ringers-

“What.” ground out a voice from the door, making Francis jump and take his hands off the picture. “Do you think you’re doing.” Arthur’s eyes glowed in the dark as they took in the diaries littered on the floor. When he spoke, his fangs stood stark white in the moonlight. Francis backed away from the boxes, but it wasn’t easy with them all around him.

“Arthur, I-” he began, but the vampire stepped sharply to the side, opening the door wider and pointing towards the hall.

“Get out.”

“Arthur-”

“ ** _OUT!_** ” he bellowed, sending Francis scrambling for his life out of the door, down the hall, and to the room he’d claimed as his bedroom. Arthur couldn’t get him in here, not being able to enter another person’s room or house without permission. The semi-ghost breathed hard, heart racing as he leant against the bedroom door, sliding down until he hit the floor.

He’d done it now.


	4. Chapter 4

Francis awoke the next morning with yet another bump to the head.

But instead of it being a book, it seemed that the door he’d fallen asleep leaning against was opening, bumping his head as well as pushing him across the floor and giving him one hell of a wedgie. Groaning, he rolled out of the way. Without his body weight keeping the door closed, the person who had been trying to open it fell straight through, landing face first on the bedroom floor. Alfred swore, sitting up and rubbing his nose.

“Ow ow ow...” he whined, pouting at Francis. “That hurt, why’d you have to move so... quickly...” he paused to stare, eyebrows climbing. “Wow, you look like shit.”

“Merci.” Francis grumbled, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes like it would drive away his headache. “What do you want, Alfred?”

The teen perked up instantly, injured nose forgotten. “Oh yeah, you said you’d help me make hamburgers right?” He chirped, smiling widely in anticipation. “Can we do that today? Please? Pretty please with sugar and candy on top?”

Francis squinted at him. “How old are you again?”

“Twenty in July, now come on, get up!” Strong hands grabbed the semi-ghost’s wrist, pulling him to his feet in one quick tug. “It’s 12 already and I’m staaaaarviiiiing!”

It was like dealing with an excitable child on Christmas. Grumbling to himself, Francis allowed Alfred to pull him out of his room and down the the stairs, through the dining room and into the kitchen, where it seemed he’d already got out the minced beef and other such ingredients. So it seemed he knew what went into a burger, but not how to make one. Francis rolled up his sleeves and went over to the basin, gesturing for Alfred to follow him.

“Why the sudden eagerness to learn to cook? Wash your hands before touching that.” Francis asked, smacking the teen’s hands away from the fresh meat and towards the sink.

“Well this house isn’t on google maps or any satellite things, ‘coz Arthur cast some kind of weird voodoo magic on it.” Alfred explained, running his hands under the warm water and messing around with the soap suds. “So I can’t just order stuff in, and it’s a pain having to drive to take out places. And Arthur can’t cook for shit, so I need to know how.”

“Sourcils hasn’t had to cook for nearly 500 years.” the older blonde smiled to himself, pulling the minced meat apart into even-sized clumps. “He only eats when he has someone staying over who will cook for him. Such as myself.” He snickered. “Also he’d probably give himself food poisoning, he’s that terrible. Food hygiene from the 16th century.”

Alfred laughed, carefree and blowing bubbles out of the soapy water in his hands. “He tried to cook me something once. I dunno what it was, it came out all black and stuff, but it wasn’t too bad!”

Francis stared openly at him.

Alfred washed the soap off his hands. “What?”

“You really are indestructible.” the Frenchman uttered in wonderment, shaking his head. Alfred continued to look confused, and Francis just shook his head. “Never mind.”

“So, like, how long have you known Arthur?” the teen asked after a pause, rinsing his hands. “You two seem pretty damn familiar with each other.”

Francis’ hands went briefly still, hovering over the individual clumps of mince. “It’s been a bit on-and-off, over the years.” he said, thinking back. “I think... yes, the first time we met was in 1548. I’d come across to London for a change of scenery. Ended up in the seedier parts of the city. Somewhat fitting, considering I was possessing a whore at the time.”

Alfred shuddered. “Okay, dude, I’m trying really hard not to think about how you’re a g-ghost and all, so can you not bring that up too often? I’m trying to get on with you here.”

“Sorry, sorry, I won’t say it.” Francis smiled to himself, holding up his hands. “But that’s why I was there, propositioning men for a good time. And you know, when you’re a woman of the night you tend to meet others of your kind.” he nodded. “Her name was Bess. Elizabeth really, but everyone called her Bess. Busty Bess if you were her customer. She had the longest, loveliest red hair I’ve seen in my days, and always wore green, without fail.”

The teen looked blank. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Let me finish.” the Frenchman said, continuing. “Bess got a lot of customers, but some times, they wouldn’t come back. Still, it was London, a lot of people vanished in London, and it was never anyone very important, so no fuss was made. She was good at what she did, drawing men in and then taking them back to her rooms. One night, a man, extremely drunk, propositioned both myself and Bess at the same time. She didn’t seem to want to go through with it. I thought she was trying to steal a customer from me. Eventually, she gave in, and on the condition we went to her rooms.” A smirk appeared. “And that was where I met Arthur.”

Alfred’s mouth hung open. “Arthur was living with a whore?”

“Don’t let him hear you call her that, he might kill you.” Francis warned. “Besides, she played the same role as you do now; she brought him prey. A feeder, is what they call it in a vampire’s terms. She was human though. Stayed that way, died naturally of old age.” he waved his hand. “But I’m digressing. Back to how I met Arthur. As I said, we went to her rooms, and performed without any interruption. To be honest, he was so drunk that it was terrible. Bess and I had to keep ourselves entertained.” He smirked. Ah, memories.

“Not interested, get to the good bit.” Alfred said, looking just as bored as he announced.

“Fine, fine. Bess got herself dressed again and went out through the door to the next room. I thought to myself ‘ _well, she’s off in a hurry,_ ’ but I didn’t exactly want to stick around Monsieur Beer Belly either. So I got up, and started to get dressed as well, when suddenly, the door flew open. Whoever came through moved so fast I couldn’t see them, but the next thing I knew, the drunk man was gargling his last breath, and there was Arthur, teeth clamped on his throat and glowing red eyes watching me.”

Alfred seemed completely enraptured in the story, leaning forward in interest with wide eyes like a child.

“Of course, I’d never met a vampire before, but I had heard stories, so I screamed. But that didn’t get very far either, because Bess reappeared then, covering my mouth and grabbing my arms. ‘ _Hush_ ’ she said in my ear, ‘ _you’ll wake the neighbours_ ’. I was trapped. I tried kicking my legs, struggling, but Bess was a strong woman, you see. So what else was there for me to do? I ejected myself from the body I was possessing - sorry Alfred, but that’s part of the story - and got away from her. She was still holding the body of the whore, though it’d stopped moving, unconscious. I didn’t expect her to see me. Most people can’t see ghosts.

“This time, she was the one screaming. She dropped the body and scrambled back. Arthur abandoned his meal to go to her, to check she was alright. Then he noticed me too, and I began to wonder, how on earth had I stumbled onto not one, but two people who could see ghosts?

“We eventually managed to talk it out, though don’t let Arthur fool you into thinking he was always a gentleman, he was incredibly rude to me. I couldn’t get back into the original body I had, since I can only possess a body once, so I was stuck, but I ended up staying with them for a while.” Francis shrugged. “And that’s how I met Arthur.”

Alfred applauded him like he’d just finished the retelling of an epic. Playing along, Francis bowed slightly, smiling. “Man, you’re an awesome storyteller, Francis.”

“Merci, mon cher.” He said finally turning his attention back to the hamburgers. “So, fair is fair, how did you meet Arthur?”

The teen chuckled sheepishly. “Aw, my story isn’t even all that interesting next to your one.”

“I’d like to hear it still. Come help me squash these into flat circles, will you?” he moved to the side to allow Alfred access to the lumps of meat. The blonde eagerly pounced on them, carefully squishing them into flat disks.

“Right, well, okay, I came to England to get away from trouble at home, yeah? But you know, I can’t help but do what I do. So I’m chasing this one girl through the forest just north of here, and damn, she can run, like an athlete. But it’s a lot of fun chasing her, so I don’t try so hard to keep up. Anyway, one second I’m chasing her, and the next, she’s suddenly gone from my line of sight. I was seriously confused, until I looked down, and I could see her legs sticking out of the bushes, but they were all twisted in weird directions, like she’d been hit by a truck or something.” He crushed the heel of his hand into one of the burgers to illustrate.

“Course, it’s only now that I know it was probably because Arthur was going about as fast as a truck too, but right then I was hella confused. So I look in the bushes, and yep, there’s Arthur, snacking away on her neck, and shoulders, and pretty much everywhere. He must have been in one of his really crazy hungry moods. Maybe he hadn’t eaten for a week or something, I dunno, but he was going at her like it. I just kind of watched him for a while, because it’s kind of fascinating, isn’t it? When he gets all wild like that, ripping and tearing at them and getting all messy.”

Alfred was wearing that unsettling smile again, and Francis chose not to comment on whether or not such a display was fascinating or disturbing. It would probably escalate into an argument and Alfred might try a demonstration. Which nobody really wanted, did they?

“And I know he must have noticed me because he looked right at me, creepy glowing red eyes and all, and that was when I twigged that he was a vampire. Which is actually pretty cool. But he says he doesn’t sparkle in sunlight, just burns, so oh well.” he shrugged one shoulder. “Anyhow, he actually finished eating and then sat up all proper like and said all politely ‘ _sorry, is this yours?_ ’ at me.” Alfred’s imitation of Arthur’s accent was laughable at best, and did elicit a chuckle from Francis. Alfred chuckled too. “Yeah, I know right? I mean, he’s covered in blood, the chick on the floor is totally decimated, and he’s trying to pretend like nothing happened?”

Francis shook his head. “He’s so obsessed with being a gentleman these days, I think the Victorian era really left an impression on him.”

“Definitely. Okay, so I take my mask off - I forgot to say, I usually go chasing people with a hockey mask on. Gotta love your classic horror movies - I take my mask off, and he just kind of freezes. And here comes the creepy part.” he leaned in conspiratorially, looking completely serious. “He totally knew my name.”

Ah. Francis pretended to be surpised, eyebrows shooting up, even if he knew exactly why Arthur recognised the teen murderer. Whether or not the two Alfreds were actually connected was a different matter.

“He ended up insisting I stay at his house, and eventually we just kind of fell into the routine of me getting folks and killing them and him eating them.” he pulled a face. “And what, you said that means I’m his feeder now? What am I, a zoo keeper?”

“I’m afraid so, mon ami.” Francis shook his head, stepping back to look over the burgers they’d made already. “Okay, let’s get these on the grill.”

Soon enough, the burgers were ready, and Alfred was heartily tucking in to one of them with all the vigor that he usually attacked his food with. He seemed quite contented though, and mumbled around a mouthful. “Thish ish really good!”

“They do say that food tastes better if you make it yourself.” Francis said, eating his own burger at a calmer pace. As it was, Alfred had three, and was already half-way through his second one. “Probably because you can make it just the way you like it.”

“Mustard, ketchup, onions, relish, lettuce and tomato!” Alfred grinned, then looked serious. “But never pickles. Not in my burger. Ick.”

Sometimes Francis found it hard to consolidate the image of the young man across from him - who had now started on a rant about how he didn’t like pickles in his burger and always had to pick them out - with the blood-soaked murderer that could be found every night in the basement. Which brought him to another thought entirely.

“Oh yes, what are we going to do about feeding Arthur?” he asked, gazing thoughtfully out the window at the garden. The slightly overgrown hedge maze still had a lingering mist around it, though it was quickly being burned through by the mid-day autumn sun. “No more killing people in the basement.”

Alfred shrugged one shoulder. “Let him starve for a few days. He’ll be fine, he always is.”

Francis raised an eyebrow at him. “You’d do that? It’s quite dangerous, you being a live, regular human and all. If you’re in the same house as him when he reaches his limit, it’ll be trouble.”

“Pfft.” the teen chuckled, flapping a hand at the Frenchman. “I can take him. I’ll fight him off if I have to.”

Blue eyes stared. “You.” Deadpanned Francis. “You can fight off a vampire. Without the aid of any kind of magical weapon.” Francis couldn’t help but gape at him. Vampires were notoriously strong, able to hold down the strongest of prey with little effort, as well as monstrously fast. When Alfred had described Arthur as going as fast as a truck, Francis wasn’t hard pressed to believe him.

“I got a chainsaw, but it’s not magic.” Alfred blinked back at him obliviously. “I know he’s pretty damn strong and fast, but he’s never gone for me as bad as he’s gone for anyone else. He lashed out this one time, but the second he drew blood - knocked me into a bookshelf, cut my elbow up good - he ran off. It’s not that dangerous. I’ve got worse cuts from my own chainsaw.”

‘ _Ah_ ,’ thought Francis, understanding finally. ‘ _Must be because he looks like Arthur’s Alfred. But he doesn’t seem to know that._ ’ It would probably be prudent to remain quiet about such things. Especially after last night.

He wasn’t looking forward to when Arthur woke up this evening. He might have to make himself scarce.

“But yeah, he’ll probably just be sulky for a few days, he’s got enough downstairs that he won’t _die_ or anything, but he gets all jumpy when he can’t get it fresh.” Alfred’s face was slightly mystified. “Vampires are weird.”

“I’ve met stranger creatures.” Francis said, picking up both his own and Alfred’s now empty plates and taking them to the dishwasher. “But vampires are very fickle, picky types. It’s not uncommon for them to develop a certain repetitive habits.”

“You mean like OCD? Arthur cleans enough that I bet he has it already.” the teen snorted. He was right, the house was nearly always spotless, aside from a few locked rooms. Perhaps it was a side effect of being alone for so long at night; he had to do something with his time.

“No, I mean very strange compulsions. There used to be a method of defeating vampires by dumping rice in their coffins.” When Alfred gave him a confused look, Francis explained more clearly. “They would have to count each grain, and by the time they were finished it would be nearly dawn, and the person they were chasing would be long gone.”

The American laughed. “Man, that’s kinda silly, doncha think? Big scary vampires getting their panties in a twist over some rice.”

“Sand also works. It just goes to show that most things of a supernatural nature have some kind of weakness.” He raised his eyebrows, smirking. “By the way, those religious symbols won’t repel ghosts like me. The salt would have worked if I hadn’t been in a human body.”

Alfred flushed, embarrassed and pouting. “What else works on ghosts?”

Francis made a thoughtful humming sound. “Depends on the kind of ghost. A wandering spirit like me is generally harmless unless provoked, just like a regular person, only dead. Poltergeists and vengeful spirits can sometimes only be satisfied by the death of their target, though you can get an exorcist in for those.” Drying off his hands, he picked at a loose thread on the towel. “Though it gets tricky there. A trait that ghosts share with vampires is that religious items and such like won’t affect them... unless they believed in them while alive.”

The teen opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. “I don’t get it.”

“Say you were being chased by a vampire, and you held up a christian cross. If that vampire were, say, Jewish, he wouldn’t be affected by it. But if you held up a Star of David, or another Jewish symbol, he’d cringe away or run or, if you were close enough, crumble to dust.” He nodded. “When it comes to supernatural creatures, the matter of belief is very important. You’ve heard the story of Peter Pan, right?”

Alfred looked confused at the sudden change in direction of conversation but nodded. “I used to watch that movie loads when I was a kid.”

“It was a book and a play first. Either way, you know from that story that if you say, with conviction, ‘I don’t believe in fairies’, a fairy will drop dead. Following me?” At the teen’s nod, he carried on. “And you can bring a fairy back by clapping your hands to show you believe. It’s very basic, childish logic, but that’s the kind of thing the supernatural world runs on. There’s deeper stuff which is much more complex and you’d be better off asking Arthur about than me.”

“Right...” Alfred trailed off thoughtfully, sitting in silence for a few moments. “So. What would work on you? I mean, what did you believe in?”

Francis shrugged, smiling. “I was a Catholic, never particularly staunch, but followed it as you did in those days.” He indicated his body. “But when I’m possessing someone, that won’t affect me so easily. Chant some psalms, get some holy water, a priest and a nice big silver cross, and we’ll see. As it is I’m so stuck to this body now it’s practically mine. It’d probably be a difficult thing to do.”

Alfred sighed, putting a hand to his head. “This stuff is confusing and makes my brain ache. I’m gonna go watch some TV.”

“How long has Arthur had a television?” Francis asked, surprised. Generally the vampire failed miserably with operating any kind of electronic machinery, from what he could remember. Actually, the fact Arthur had installed lightbulbs in his house at all had come about only in the late 1960s.

“I got him one for Christmas. He wasn’t happy at first but now he’s _crazy_ about his soaps. Like an old lady.” laughed Alfred. “And when I told them he could get them all recorded too, he made me go out and buy a DVD player too. I’m still trying to get him to buy a games console though.”

“I’m afraid you might have to give up on that dream, mon cher.” Francis shook his head. The rest of the afternoon passed in a lazy kind of atmosphere, with the chilly Autumn air creeping under the doors of the old house, enough that Alfred lit the fireplace up for them to keep warm by. Turned out Arthur kept his TV in a cupboard that had probably once housed books. It was only a small thing, but it worked well enough for Alfred to content himself watching Spiderman 2 on it. Francis was too busy marveling at modern cinematic technology to notice the sun set.

“Yeah, CGI’s kind of awesome. You can make anything with it these days!” Alfred grinned, slouching ever further in his seat. He was nearly horizontal by this stage. “To be honest, I see a lota stuff in this house that you could usually only make happen on a computer.” A frown formed. “Apart from that hellfire stuff from earlier. How the heck do you get _black_ fire?”

Francis shrugged one shoulder, glancing to the window, and then sitting up slightly. “Oh. It’s nightfall.”

Alfred craned his neck to look. “Oh yeah, it is. Days getting shorter, eh?” he sighed forlornly. “Man, and tonight’s gonna be mega boring. Blarg.” He flopped sideways over the armrest of his chair, playing dead. “When d’you think Arthur’ll come down?”

‘ _Hopefully never._ ’ thought Francis nervously. He’d planned to make a run for it, but if he started now, the vampire would easily catch up with him. “Maybe he won’t bother, since there won’t be any food.”

“I dunno, maybe we should go wake him up.” Alfred seemed concerned now, sitting up. “I mean, what if he over-sleeps and wakes up at sunrise?” A look of horror crossed his features. “Oh no! Francis, what if he spilled a bowl of rice and sand and is stuck there picking up all the pieces?!” He lept to his feet. “We have to go help him! Come on!” He grabbed the Frenchman’s arm before any protest could be made, pulling him out of his seat with reckless strength, heading towards the door and up the stairs.

“Alfred, I really don’t think we should.” Francis knew it was a futile effort, since Alfred was much, much stronger than him, but maybe he had a faint hope of being let go if he voiced his opinion of the matter. “Arthur’s always grumpy right after he’s woken up.”

“Arthur’s always grumpy anyway.” the teen brushed him off, stopping right outside the door to Arthur’s room. “Arthur! It’s night time! Are you stuck in there counting rice?” There was no answer. Alfred turned to Francis, looking distressed. “He’s so caught up in it he’s not even able to talk! We’ll have to go in!” Francis was about to protest, but Alfred was too fast. His hand landed on the doorknob, and turned, pushing the door open to show the pitch dark room.

It was simply black. The light of the hallway didn’t even cut more than a single rectangle of illuminated carpet into the darkness. Alfred paused, as did Francis. The silence held. For a long moment, nobody moved.

“Arthur?” asked Alfred.

Red orbs appeared in the darkness, snapping open wide. Those two crimson points in the darkness stared out at the intruders. Then, just as sudden, other lights appeared. Millions of eyes appearing from the dark, peppering the velvet black with bright red. Their combined glow was enough to reveal the room’s contents.

The countless bats, perched on the ceiling, on Arthur’s 4 poster bed, hanging on the curtain rods above the blacked out windows, wings wrapped around themselves. Arthur himself was sitting up in bed, nothing more revealed of his face than his eyes and silently snarling mouth. He hissed, and in response, the bats let out a piercing cry, pitched high enough that both Alfred and Francis had to cover their ears. A cacophony of noise erupted as thousands of wings unfurled, and the bats took to their air, rushing out of the door, their sheer numbers forcing Francis to the ground, ducking and covering his head. He could feel their tiny claws scratching at him as they went past, defending their lair. The living black cloud swarmed above them and down the hall, out into the hallway and bursting through the front door. They seemed to go for ages, until finally, silence fell.

Francis opened one eye experimentally, and saw bare feet in front of him. Following them up, he found Arthur staring contemptuously down at him.

“I thought I told you to get out.” he uttered lowly, one bat still clinging on his shoulder. His eyes had returned to their usual green colour, but were cold and unforgiving as ice. “Worthless, snooping son of a whore.”

“I was only curious, Arthur.” Francis said, sitting up a little and taking his hands off his head. “You never told me.”

“You never asked.” his eyes narrowed. “Moreover, I can never be sure if I can trust you, can I?”

“Have you told Alfred?” Francis asked, noticing that the teen was no longer in the hallway. He’d probably run away, being faster than Francis.

“No.”

“He’s not the same one as your boy, you know.” the Frenchman said, warily. “They seem similar, but from what I recall, your Alfred was quite a quiet, kindly boy.”

A long moment passed, before Arthur let out a deep sigh. “We fought. Before he left.” he said, a weary tone to his voice. “He wanted to find a way to cure our vampirism. I didn’t want a cure, I was happy how I was. But he insisted, and eventually, left. He told me that if I didn’t want to solve the vampirism problem, he’d tell the hunters where I was, and solve it that way.” He absently stroked the little bat on his shoulder, scratching behind it’s large ears. “For so long... I’d hoped he’d return. Three hundred years, Francis. You have no idea what that’s like.”

“Non, I do not.” Francis stood up slowly, carefully. “Why are you doing this to yourself, mon cher?”

“Because, if I let him go, I’d lose it all again.” the vampire shook his head. “When I first saw him, I knew he wasn’t a vampire. My first reaction was to wonder if he’d finally made himself human, cured his vampirism so to speak. He always acted like it was some kind of disease.” The little bat took off, fluttering down the hall. Arthur watched it go. “But he’s not the same Alfred. He doesn’t remember me. He’s only 19. So then I wondered...” He looked back at Francis. “Had he had children?”

The older blonde raised his eyebrows. “Impossible. Vampires don’t reproduce, you know that.”

“Quite, we just sire more vampires. That is, I suppose, our reproduction. However, humans _do_ reproduce. Do you follow?”

Ah. That made sense. “You think that your Alfred turned himself human, and had a family?”

“Yes.”

“You... you do realise that means your Alfred is long dead?”

Arthur’s mouth turned down, eyes narrowing. “Yes. I’m fully aware of that.”

“So why? Why are you doing this to yourself if you know full well it’ll only end in tears?” Francis knew he was pressing into dangerous territory here. Arthur might snap at him again.

But instead, the vampire closed his eyes. “Because I want a brief moment of happiness in this continually lonely existence.” Francis had never known green to be such a sad colour, but when Arthur looked at him, it was as though he had all the sins of the world on his shoulders. “Is that too much to ask for?”

Francis gave him a small smile, patting the other on the shoulder. “Non, mon cher. I think, for you, it’s just enough.”


	5. Chapter 5

They found Alfred at the fountain outside.

Or he should really say _in_ the fountain. The bats that had apparently chased him all the way out there were sitting all over the sculpture in the centre, on the many spouts from which the water poured directly onto the teen killer’s head. Alfred himself was staring up at the creatures with wary eyes, which of course meant he was getting an awful lot of water right in the face. Not that he seemed to notice, his attention on the bats rapt as it was.

“Alfred, what exactly are you doing?” Arthur asked, surveying the scene with a raised eyebrow. “If you’re trying to engage my bats in a staring contest I would like you to know that there are approximately 30 sitting on this fountain alone, and they’re not all going to blink at once.”

“No no, see...” Alfred said, slightly gargled around the water. “I’m watching them just in case they turn into people. Or vampires like you.”

Francis found the boy’s logic to be flimsy at the best of times, but this was just plain odd.

“Alfred, they may be vampire bats, but they don’t turn into vampires themselves, or turn others into vampires.” Arthur explained with a sigh. “They’re my familiars. They drink blood, and they’re naturally drawn to me. That’s all that’s special about them.”

Alfred was silent for a while. “... I don’t trust them.”

Arthur rolled dimly glowing eyes skyward. “Oh for the love of- Francis, would you drag him out of there already?”

The Frenchman looked distatefully at the slightly dirty water of the fountain. “I think he’s got the motor skills to do it himself, Sourciles.”

Grumbling, Arthur bent down to the side of the fountain, and got a net one usually found by the side of a pool. Granted, it was quite a large fountain, with water nearly two feet deep, but did he really need a net? The green eyed vampire saw Francis looking curiously at it, and scowled. “What? You have no idea how often he falls in there.” 

Francis tried not to snicker too loudly as the teen blonde was pulled from the fountain by force, more than once face-planting into the water and breaking eye contact with the bats completely. The two others splashed around and yelled at each other, the older of the three standing well back and away from the water, not particularly interested in getting splashed with dirty water. For an early November night, it was quite warm. A gentle wind blew through the trees and only a few clouds floated across the crescent moon. If it weren’t for the idiot in the fountain and the vampire trying to pull him out, Francis would almost call it peaceful.

The wind picked up a little, throwing autumn leaves up and getting them stuck to poor, wet Alfred, who was finally out of the fountain and onto the driveway. Arthur was half way through another rant about how he’d got splashed by Alfred’s flailing, when he stopped mid-word and went very still. It was very odd, how he could suddenly turn into a statue of a person, not a single shiver or twitch of movement.

Except his nose. He seemed to be breathing deeply through his nose, sniffing the air that moved across the front courtyard with the wind. The bats on the fountain had all turned their attention to where the wind was blowing from, and slowly, Arthur’s head turned that way also.

“Well it’s not like it’s my fault if you-”

“Alfred.” Arthur said sharply, and with an unusual sense of urgency. “Shut up.”

Strangely enough, Alfred stopped talking, staring at the serious expression on Arthur’s face. No, not serious. It was a look Francis hadn’t really seen on his old friend’s face before. It was a strange mix of anger and terror, the conflicting feelings down turning his mouth and bringing his brows together in a scowl. His eyes faded slowly to red, and he peered off into the trees.

“We have company.” the vampire announced, feet shifting apart into a stance one would usually take for a fight.

Francis felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. “... hunters?”

“No...” Arthur murmured, and relief returned to the ghost. But the vampire remained alert. “But almost as bad. They’re back again.”

Alfred was looking quite worried without his chainsaw to hand. “Who?” he whispered.

Sharp teeth bared. “The wolves.”

As though that word was a trigger, the bushes across the driveway exploded with movement, two brownish blurs racing forward with agility and menacing growls. Francis dove sideways as the largest one lept right over the 6 foot tall fountain, slamming into Arthur claws-first, the two of them rolling off to the side, hissing and barking and yelping, a whirl of animalistic anger, fur and teeth.

“Arthur!” Alfred shouted, moving to get up from the ground before he too was pinned by the second, smaller wolf. Not that it was a small animal to begin with; it would easily stand taller than your average city car. It growled in the teen’s ear, paws pressing into his back. “Get off me you big mutt!”

“Be careful Alfred!” Francis warned, staying well back. He couldn’t afford to get hurt. “Don’t let it bite you!”

The teen wriggled his hands under him, and grinned. “Hah! I’ve seen... this movie... before!” And with effort, he pushed himself off the ground, making the wolf fall to the side with a yelp. Before it could right itself, Alfred pounced on it, pinning it there with hands buried in it’s fur, on it’s windpipe. Before he could get much further, a large paw smacked him on the side of the head, dislodging his glasses and knocking his balance enough for the wolf to get up. But Alfred didn’t bother to grope around blind, simply going for the large, unmissable animal and knocking the both of them in the fountain.

Francis watched in awe as the human teen wrestled with the werewolf, trying to figure out what was more impressive; that he could fight the animal in the first place, or that he actually seemed to be winning.

What’s more, the smaller wolf seemed to be tiring out, while the larger one still fighting viciously with Arthur showed no signs of fatigue. As Alfred’s opponent shook the boy off once again, it teetered slightly to the side, panting and eyes darting for a way out, knowing it couldn’t fight much longer. It gave a short howl, trying to alert the other wolf, before being suddenly cut off as Alfred shoved it, face first, into the water. The wolf’s limbs skittered and splashed in the fountain, but the American leaned his whole weight on keeping the animal’s head underwater. Francis saw the other wolf pause, bark sharply and attempt to get over to the fountain, only for Arthur to tackle it to the ground with a screeching, inhuman cry.

A peculiar sight was happening to the smaller wolf. As it’s struggles became weaker, it seemed to be getting smaller. The thick hair became thinner and thinner, seeming to retract towards the body. There were loud cracks as bones re-aligned, paws shifting into normal human hands. When one such hand feebly grabbed at Alfred’s arm, he seemed surprised enough to let go, finally moving away from the now human werewolf.

He wasn’t moving.

A loud howl tore through the night, and Alfred suddenly found himself with 400lbs more wolf to deal with, but it seemed that fighting was no longer the main concern. Looking where Arthur had gone to, both the blonde’s attentions were caught as the vampire lay on the ground, clutching at the back of his leg and bleeding from bites and claw marks all over.

“Arthur!” Alfred yelled, abandoning the wolves and leaping out of the water, running over to the fallen vampire. Francis joined him, looking over the injuries. “Shit shit shit, he’s gonna bleed out!” the teen worried, hands hovering just above the wounds, unsure of how to help rather than hurt. There was an odd smell, like rotten meat, though it didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. “Francis what do we do?!”

“Shut up you idiot.” Arthur hissed between his teeth, one glowing red eye still open and fixed on the fountain where the wolves were. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“A flesh wound?!” the younger blond shouted, gesturing wildly. “You’re missing half the back of your leg and you call that a flesh wound?!”

“It’ll heal, Alfred.” Francis tried to assure him, risky though it was to reason with the young murderer when he got all worked up like this. “He can recover from this, most vampires have the ability. As long as we wash the wound of wolf saliva it’ll be fine.”

“Then we need water!” Alfred caught on, automatically turning back towards the fountain.

Where there had once been two wolves, there were now two people, but they both seemed to have retained their wolf ears and tails. One, a tall, muscular blonde man, was holding the smaller, brunette in his arms, trying to force the water out. He swore in German before placing his companion on the wide wall of the fountain, pumping down on his chest, and performing CPR. Of course, as neither of them were wearing clothes, Francis was getting quite an enjoyable show.

“Hey, should we be letting them do that?” Alfred asked, confused and looking to Francis, who shrugged.

“The rules state that if there’s a state where the two parties are injured, they’re allowed to do recoveries until the next bout.” Arthur grunted through clenched teeth.

“You guys have _rules_ for this shit?”

“Alfred, the water.”

“Oh yeah!” the teen jumped to his feet, seeming no worse for wear having just fought a creature twice his size, and cautiously approached the fountain. Looking at what that creature had become, it was hard to see why Alfred hadn’t just snapped his fragile looking neck in the first place.

The brunette’s eyes suddenly flew open, and he hacked up an frightening amount of water onto the ground, his blonde companion sitting back with a concerned expression, before patting his back in an adorably awkward attempt to help the water along. He didn’t even look over as Alfred carefully reached down and scooped up some water in his hands, then bolted back over to Arthur’s side, trying not to spill much, and dumped it on the vampire’s injured leg. He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. The smell of rotting meat disappeared, and Arthur sighed through his teeth.

“Alpha...” rasped a voice, and Francis looked over his shoulder at the fountain where the brunette boy was sitting up. Looking closely at him he didn’t seem to be much older than 20. His hand reached up to the blonde’s shoulder, steadying himself. His mouth worked back and forth for a while, before finally he...

… started crying.

“Waaaaa! Alpha, Alpha that was so scary! I don’t like it Alpha, I don’t like iiiiiit!” he bawled, loud enough for the other three to wince away from. The blonde looked twice as put upon, and Francis suddenly pitied him for having advanced hearing in a situation like this. It was now clear that the boy had an Italian accent. What were a German and an Italian werewolf doing together? “H-he held me under water and I thought I was going to diiiiiie!”

The blonde suddenly slammed his hand over the other werewolf’s mouth. “Feliciano, look, you’re fine now. Just don’t... scare me like that again.”

Large brown eyes blinked up at him, said something muffled behind the blonde’s hand. He removed it, and the boy said again. “Ve, you were scared for me, Ludwig?”

Underneath all the bruises and cuts and old scars, the blonde suddenly blushed bright red, wolf ears flattening on the side of his head. “Well- I- uh... I wouldn’t have sent you in to fight if I’d known that guy over there was so strong!” He pointed in the direction of Alfred, who grinned cockily. “He smelled like a human to me!” A short pause later, he added. “And that’s Alpha!”

“Mmm...” the boy, Feliciano apparently, sniffed the air. “He smells human to me too. But he’s so scary, he’s like a monster!”

Alfred pouted. “Hi, pot calling the kettle black! You’re the one who was going to bite me!”

Innocent looking eyes blinked. “Ve, I wasn’t going to bite you. I was just going to hold you down until Alpha finished.” He frowned, and even that seemed adorably childish. “Even if I did you wouldn’t be a wolf like us. It’s not the full moon, silly.”

“Like that’s something everyone knows!”

Ludwig, the blonde, cleared his throat. “Vampire, I would like to request your name.” he asked formally. Arthur snorted haughtily.

“Arthur Kirkland. What is it to you, _Ludwig_ ” he replied. Francis didn’t think he’d ever seen an injured man stick his nose so high in the air.

The blonde werewolf frowned. “Kirkland. Aren’t you supposed to have a coven? The only vampire here I smell is you.”

Ah, that wasn’t smart. Arthur snarled something bitterly, a word so distorted by anger it was nearly uninteligble. “Hunters.”

A shock ran through the unknowing, from the wolves to Alfred, who’s face quickly turned puzzled.

“You had a coven? You mean like a family?” he asked incredulously. Arthur’s eyes flickered over to him, stayed for a moment, and turned away quickly.

“A long time ago. Before you were even born.”

"... Arthur?"

“Ve,” said Feliciano, and he was suddenly very close, almost right next to them, crouching down on the ground with his wolf ears flattened on his head and his tail drooping sadly. “I’m sorry your family died, Arthur. That must be really sad for you...” He seemed sincere, so much so that the vampire was taken aback. “You’re really scary, but do you want a hug? It’ll make you feel better, hugs always make me feel better. And pasta. And siestas.”

In the background, Ludwig facepalmed.


	6. Chapter 6

“Look.” Ludwig said slowly, walking much more cautiously than his packmate over to the group. His long, brownish tail hid his modesty, much to Francis’ disappointment, though Feliciano didn’t seem to be doing the same. Ah, sweet consolation prizes. “The only reason we attacked is because we smelled you on the wind. We couldn’t help it. All we wanted to do was pass through here without any trouble.”

“Ve, he’s right, we were just trying to get as far away as possible.” Feliciano nodded, taking his eyes off Arthur who was scooting as far away from the hug as possible. “We ran really far, didn’t we, Alpha? I haven’t even got to nap yet.”

Ludwig looked briefly annoyed. “Why are you only fast when we’re running _away_ from something...” he muttered.

Before Francis could ask “from what”, Alfred cut over him.

“Gah! You guys are totally naked!” He covered his eyes with his hands, turning away. “Geez, put some clothes on ya streakers!” Francis gave him a look. Was he raised puritan or what? And how had it taken him this long to notice... ah, he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

The German coloured brilliantly, seeming very uncomfortable all of a sudden. “We can’t keep clothes with us when we transform...”

“Ve, they rip to little bits, don’t they Alpha!” chirped Feliciano, much more at home in nakedness than his partner.

“Yes, they do, and you cried the last time something designer got ruined.” Ludwig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We did keep backpacks with us full of clothes, but when we had to leave so quickly we couldn’t go and get them.”

Francis siezed his chance. “What were you running from?”

Feliciano suddenly started shaking, and Ludwig’s face grew dark. “Hunters...”

Arthur snapped upright. “And you lead them right here?!” he hissed at them, livid. Francis recalled the bloodstained pages of the diary. “You bastards, this is low, even for werewolves!”

“I just said it wasn’t on purpose!” Ludwig barked back, fists clenched. “Besides which we outran them! We were all the way up in Scotland when we nearly got caught by them! They chased us across the border but we lost them long before here!”

“Do you know what they’ll do if they come here?” Arthur snarled, fingers making grooves in the dirt of the driveway as they curled into fists. “They won’t spare a single one of us! They’ll take sadistic glee in nailing me to the side of the house as the sun rises! They’ll put you two in silver cages to see you writhe before they pump you full of mercury! Francis will be exorcised and contained for further study!” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Alfred gave a low whistle. “Sounds brutal. And you guys are meant to be the monsters.”

“We are monsters.” Ludwig said lowly. “But they’re inhuman.”

A long silence passed, full of dread and heavy hanging.

“Hmm, hey Arthur, why not let them stay the night?” Alfred suggested, and quickly earned himself a poisonous glare for his troubles. “Oh come on, unite against a common enemy or something. They said they outran them right? Just let ‘em stay for a bit.”

“No.” Arthur said firmly.

Alfred’s eyes went very round and shiny. “Please?”

Sensing this would go on all night, Francis cut across. “There’s room in the stables, isn’t there? Go on Arthur, there’s rain forecast for tomorrow.”

The combined puppy dog looks of both Feliciano and Alfred made Arthur look away. “Fine. In the stables. But only until tomorrow! Next time I wake up you’d better be gone!”

Feliciano’s face lit up. “Yaaay! Alpha, Alpha, we get a roof to sleep under tonight!”

“... thank you.” Ludwig said stiffly. Arthur snorted.

“Alfred, help me up and to bed. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” he demanded like a haughty prince. Chuckling at his behaviour, Alfred scooped him hip bridal style, ignoring protestations, and carried on inside.

“... Are they always-” Began Ludwig.

Francis smiled. “Oui, always.” He got to his feet himself, neatly smacked Ludwig on his nice, firm rear, and walked towards the house. “Stables are around the back, bon nuit~!”

Just before he closed the door, he managed to catch “Ve, Alpha, your face looks like it’s gonna explode!” Ah, an evening well spent.

\-----

“Francis.” Arthur said slowly.

The semi-ghost in question didn’t look up from his book. “Yes, mes chers Sourcils?”

The vampire drew in a long breath. “I would like you to explain why _that_ ” And he jabbed a finger at the sleeping pile of fur and paws next to the fireplace of the library. “is in my house.”

Francis turned a page in the novel. “Well, rosbif, it mostly has to do with Alfred bringing them in soon after you went to bed, asking if we could keep them. He also said it was mean to leave puppies out in the freezing cold like that.”

“They’re not _puppies_ , Francis.” Arthur gritted out.

A small smirk quirked up the edge of the Frenchman’s mouth. “Don’t grind your teeth so, Arthur, it’ll shorten them to stumps.”

“ _Shut up and get them out of here._ ” the shorter blonde growled in response. One of the wolves sleepily raised its head. From the size and lighter fur, it appeared to be Feliciano. Immediately it’s ears flattened on sight of Arthur, and it let out a small whine, more like a scolded puppy than a ferocious animal. Green eyes glared at it, but still it whimpered pathetically.

“Oh come now Arthur, they haven’t attacked you since.” Francis said, closing his book and leaning on the armrest of the chair. “All they’ve done is sleep. They ran quite a way.”

The vampire wasn’t having it. “Haven’t attacked me since- it’s only been a day!”

“Aaaaactually.” Said Alfred, appearing around the corner. “It’s been two days, you slept straight through last night because of your injuries.” A wide, sunny grin came to his face. “I nearly busted into your room again but then I remembered all those freaky bats so I didn’t bother.”

Arthur huffed, sticking his nose in the air. “Your concern is unnecessary. I’m fine now.” He flexed his previously injured leg to prove it. Though it didn’t seem damaged, he did walk with a slight limp, which he tried to hide unsuccessfully.

“Anyway anyway!” Alfred suddenly stood in Arthur’s path, bouncing up and down like a little kid waiting to open presents. “Can we keep them! Pleeeeeeease?”

Arthur didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“I’ll change their newspapers and take them for walks and-”

“I said no.”

“But they’re _werewolves_! The level of coolness just _can’t_ be lost on you, Arthur!” He suddenly grabbed Arthur’s hands in his, leaning in close to the vampire’s face. “Come on, please? I’ve been on my best behaviour.”

Usually pale cheeks coloured brilliantly, brain triggering a usually still heart to beat rapidly. He pulled his hands away from Alfred’s, turning on his heel to fold his arms. “F-fine! But only for a week, then they have to go!” he insisted. Aw, how cute, thought Francis.

“Yes! Thank you Arthur!” Turning away from the teen proved to be a mistake when the taller blonde jumped onto the vampire with a big bear hug. “Thank yooooou, you won’t regret this!” And with that, the boy ran out of the room, presumably straight to the car to buy all sorts of odd things like dog collars and bowls and the like.

Arthur stood stock still in the middle of the library, still very red in the face and with a peculiar expression of embarrassment on his face. Francis chuckled quietly to himself, but not quiet enough.

“Oh, what are _you_ laughing at?” Arthur snapped, glaring at him, though the intimidation was lessened by the red cheeks. Feliciano was watching all this too, tail wagging. “And you! I didn’t hug you last night and I’m not hugging you now!”

Feliciano went back to looking dejected, settling his head on the floor and gazing sadly up at the vampire.

“Hmph.” Arthur sniffed, folding his arms. “I don’t know what Alfred’s thinking, believing that our species can get along when we’re programmed to fight and hate each other, right down to our bones.”

Francis got up from his chair with an easy smile. “Ah, but Sourciles, you only have to fight on first meeting, do you not?” He made his way over to where the vampire was observing the wolves from the furthest point possible in the room. “After which you are free to keep them as, how shall we say, pets, non?”

“More like pests.” Arthur responded, but his glare was lessening into more of his usual frown. “I still don’t like them. They stink.”

“Only to sensitive noses such as yours.” Francis poked Arthur’s nose, withdrawing his hand quickly as Arthur snapped sharp teeth at him with a ‘click’. “Careful mon cher, you don’t like Frog blood, remember?”

The vampire sulked. “Well pardon me if I’m a little hungry. It’s been two days since I last drank and five since I had a fresh kill.”

“Time to lift the ban on Alfred’s hunting?” Francis pondered, taking in how gaunt Arthur was starting to look now the blush had faded. Then again, Arthur always looked like a re-animated corpse, sans rotting flesh. It just seemed that he was getting deep bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept, and his lips were turning from grey to nearly blue...

“So he is a vampire then.” came Ludwig’s voice suddenly. The other two turned to see the blonde werewolf back in his half-human form, still covering himself with his tail. Oh well, Francis would take what he could. “Hunting on your behalf. Isn’t that lazy?”

Arthur growled at him wordlessly in response, and Francis placed a hand on his wrist. “Alfred is a little bit special.” he explained patiently. “In that he is 100% human... but also 100% insane.”

Slowly, Ludwig’s eyebrow raised. “He seemed normal to me. Aside from the strength and speed.”

A couple of cracks followed, and a half-human Feliciano grabbed on to Ludwig’s arm urgently. “But Alpha, Alpha, he was so scary when he was holding me under water! It was like he was enjoying it! He was smiling during our fight!”

“Ah, and that’s the thing.” Francis nodded. “He seems so normal, so friendly, that people underestimate him, until...”

“Until he invites them home, and they become my next meal.” Arthur finished with an unnecessary smirk, in Francis’ opinion. Ludwig glared and Feliciano whimpered. “Of course, we let him go at them with the chainsaw first or he’d never stop whining.”

“Chainsaw?” Ludwig’s frown deepened further. “I see. Tell me, is this boy Alfred F. Jones?”

“You know of him?” Arthur’s eyebrows climbed high in surprise, Francis following. Someone knew of Alfred. If word was spreading, it would be dangerous.

“Just of the serial killer in the United States.” the werewolf folded his arms. “After his brother shot himself, he strangled his own mother, and left the house in pursuit of his father, who was on the run. He killed nearly 30 people just on the trail for him.”

“What’s creepy though, is that they could never find a trace of him.” Feliciano added, voice trembling. “And a few months ago, the killings just stopped. They couldn’t find where he, or his father went.” he shuddered, looking tearfully up at Ludwig. “Ve, is this really the same person? That’s so scary!” he turned pale. “I was almost killed by the Texas Chainsaw Murderer!”

“They gave him a name and everything?” Arthur seemed most shocked by that information in particular, but Francis’ heart had started to beat rapidly as soon as they’d mentioned the father on the run. He didn’t know why, or how, or what was causing it. But he suddenly couldn’t breathe in here.

“Excusez-moi...” he murmured, and slipped out of the room, to the front steps. The chilly night air was different from two days ago, when the breeze had been warm. Now, standing out here without a coat, he could feel the body he was possessing start to drop in temperature. Whose was this body? Who was Phillipe? Was it possible that he was Alfred’s supposed father? Did Fate really have that cruel of a sense of humor?

_’I have a half brother who was raised by a French father who then abandoned him to go back to France.’_

As Alfred came around from the side of the house with a leather belt and a massive dog tag, he decided that Fate had a very strange sense of humor indeed.

_’I mean, he was a total douche, told my little brother he didn't love him any more and left, and poor Mattie ended up killing himself over it.’_

“Hey so I figured that their necks would be too big for dog collars so I got some belts instead from that pile of clothes from all the dead folks we have in the back.” the teen rambled on, unaware of what Francis was thinking of.

_‘So, you wouldn't happen to know this guy would you? Since you're French and all.’_

“But I’m wondering if I should put their names on the tags or not, because of that whole dog theft thing that’s been going around. You know, if you put the name of the dog on there, the theives will know what to call it, right?” Francis swallowed heavily. Alfred seemed completely unaware of the Frenchman’s racing heartbeat. A heart that wasn’t even his. A body that wasn’t his either.

_’Phillipe Fournier. Blonde hair, curled at the ends, douchey little goatee...’_

“I dunno, Francis, do you think anyone would bother to steal a werewolf? Might just be me being silly...”

_’... kind of like you, actually.’_

How long had he known? Or was he just playing with him? Or perhaps he really was as stupid as he looked... Francis could only hope. Alfred was staring expectantly at him. Francis forced a smile. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Moreover, they probably don’t want to wear collars, all things considered.” Fight or flight coursed around his brain, and his instinctive choice was always the latter. After all, there was no way he could fight on even terms with the same boy who had wrestled a werewolf into submission.

Who had strangled his mother to death.

Who had killed at least 130 people in pursuit of his father, plus just for the fun of it.

Phillipe, Phillipe, Phillipe.

Francis had definitely picked the wrong body to hop into that fateful day. Oh why hadn’t he just avoided that alley...

“Francis? Hellooooo?” A hand waved in front of his face, Alfred suddenly much closer than before. “You’re spacing out on me. This is Houston to Francis, come in Francis.”

“Ah, désolé.” he said, chuckling nervously. “I was just thinking.”

Alfred tilted his head. “Hmm, kay, if you say so. You know if you’re worried about the wolves you don’t have to be. I’ll keep them under control.” He grinned. “I’m not the best with animals, but I think I can hold ‘em down if you guys need to run.”

Francis stepped back, looking down the driveway of the mansion with a frown. “I don’t think it’ll be the wolves we’re running from, Alfred.”

The teen seemed confused, before realisation dawned. “Oh yeah, the Hunters. What’s up with them anyway? Why the hate? You guys seem decent to me.”

Alfred’s definition of “decent” was probably a bit skewed, Francis thought. “The Hunters don’t care how decent we are as people. They’re dedicated to wiping out all supernatural life, whether it threatens humans or not. They view us as hellspawn.” he shrugged. “And well, some of us are. They see it as a religious duty to get rid of us.”

“So what, is this like a secret Vatican conspiricy?” Alfred asked, seeming excited. “I saw a movie about that once.”

“I bet you did.” Francis muttered. It seemed that Alfred had seen a movie for everything. When did the boy find time to sleep? “Although the Vatican and the Catholic church are major supporters of the Hunters, many other religions are involved as well, from Jews and Muslims to Chinese Tao practitioners and Hindu Gurus.”

“Woooah.” said Alfred, in awe. He seemed entirely unafraid of these people. Of course, he had no reason to be afraid of them, human as he was. “Talk about having the world out to get you.”

Francis nodded gravely. “Their methods are excessively cruel, yet more reason why we don’t want them to find us. Granted, we are able to fight and kill them, but it’s much more dangerous than fighting one of our own kind. They have our weaknesses.”

“What, like holy water? Silver bullets and all that?” Alfred grinned. “Guess you would need a supporter rich as the Vatican for that kind of thing.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey hey, does that mean all that stuff in the Da Vinci code was true? And that other movie, Angels and Demons!”

Francis resisted the urge to facepalm. “Oui, Alfred. Exactement.”

Though Francis’ predicament was dangerous indeed, he could at least be thankful that Alfred was just as dim witted as he was insane.


	7. Chapter 7

November turned from warm to chilly somewhere about the 18th, and Francis started to find it hard to get out of bed.

“Well it’s common sense isn’t it.” said Arthur, giving him a look like he was some kind of simpleton. Or Alfred. “You have no body temperature apart from that of the room you’re in. My house isn’t well heated, if at all, so you’re freezing up.”

“I’m _what_?!” cried Francis incredulously, self-consciously flexing his fingers. “You must be joking Sourciles, this hasn’t happened to me the last two winters I was possessing this body!”

“It might be starting to reject you, then.” the vampire brushed him off, folding his arms. “And the sooner it does the sooner you can get the heck out of my house.” He wrinkled his nose distatefully. “And take the wolves with you, while you’re at it.”

Francis saw an opportunity to make a jab back at the shorter blonde, and took it. “Oh, but mon cher, Alfred does so like his new pet! I saw him playing fetch with Feliciano the other night.”

Arthur’s face predictably twisted into a snarl. Score one for Francis. “I don’t want him hanging around with those mutts. They’re a bad influence.”

“In what way?” laughed Francis, finally swinging his legs out of bed after he’d persuaded each muscle to move properly. “Alfred’s a big boy, he can look after himself. Last thing he needs is you mother hening all over him.”

“I’m not trying to be his sodding mother!” Green eyes rolled. “As much as I am loathe to listen to werewolves, that Ludwig had a point. If Alfred’s name is becoming infamous over here, he has to lay low.”

“I’m surprised the police are taking so long to find him, actually.” Slowly, the semi-ghost got to his feet, a little unsteady. He felt like an old man, despite never actually being one. “With his kill count so high and the sudden jump in missing persons here, surely they’d notice.”

“My house is hidden, they won’t find him here.” Arthur said quietly, but he was frowning deeply. “It’s not the police I’m worried about...”

Francis’ eyebrows climbed high. “You think the Hunters would mistake him for a supernatural creature and track him down to kill him?”

“No.” He shook his head, eyes going to the window where the crisp night air left white frost on the window panes. “I think they might try and recruit him.”

That was definitely not what Francis was expecting. “What? Why would they... how low have their standards slipped?”

“My sources tell me they’re picking up anyone these days. Anyone with a drive and the ability to kill something human-shaped without breaking down.” He snorted. “An ability Alfred has in spades. It’s not like back in the crusades and the old days, when people would volunteer out of religious duty. The Hunters have gone so deep underground you can’t find them. That’s fine by them, though. Because they can still find you.”

A chill raced down Francis’ spine at the very thought.

"And they will find him," Arthur continued, nearly growling. "If he keeps carelessly wandering about in the open like he does! He just drives off into town like he's he world's most implacable man! Somebody needs to nail him to the floor, or I swear--"

The door to Francis' room burst open, revealing a grinning Alfred, covered from head to toe in mud, with massive tears in his clothes. They were the new ones that he'd bought with Francis on that shopping trip. He silently mourned their loss. "Guys, guys, you have to see what I taught Feli to do! Oh man werewolves are the coolest pets ever I swear."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose as though to try and keep himself calm. "Alfred. For the last time, werewolves are not _pets_." He gritted out. "And you better not have tracked mud all the way through the house."

The teen pouted. "Are too pets. Feli is anyway. Ludwig has a stick up his ass and won't transform or anything." He brightened suddenly. "Hey hey, did you know in the day they look totally like normal humans? Their ears and tails only come out when the sun sets, isn't that awesome? They had to borrow some of my clothes though since ew, naked people."

"Though they call America the nation of excess, you are certainly quite prudish, Alfred." Francis chuckled. Alfred stuck his tongue out at him, then accidentally tasted mud and grimaced.

“Anyway, come and see what I taught Feli to do!” He insisted, grabbing Arthur by the hand and pulling him out the door. The vampire protested about the mud, but as usual was ignored completely. Francis got up at his own pace, carefully stepping around the copious amounts of dirt Alfred had indeed tracked all the way through the house. The sun had only just set, and Francis was starting to get used to being nocturnal. He was thankful that Arthur had quite taken to having lights on in the house for the sake of those who were not so equipped with night vision as vampires were. Or maybe it was Alfred who had gone around the house turning on every single light.

He instinctual ducked as a bat soared over his head, through an open window in the hallway. It squeaked a fluttered about the room, seeming to be looking for something. 

“Bonsoir.” he greeted it, recognising that with how big it was, it was likely a vampire bat. “Are you looking for Arthur? He’s outside.”

The bat chirped something back at him, and went to fly to the window. There was something attached to it’s back. A letter? No, it was bigger than that. Francis went out of the front door, following it round to where it soared over to where Arthur and Alfred were standing with Ludwig, who was now fully clothed (to Francis’ disappointment) and Feliciano, who was in wolf form. 

“Okay Feli, here comes Francis, do the trick again- hey, what’s that?” Alfred peered at the bat that was coming towards them, then jumped back in surprise. “Gah! Bat! Arthur, did you leave your door open?”

The very unimpressed looking vampire turned to look up at the flying animal, holding out his arm for it to land on. “This one isn’t mine.” he said simply, taking the paper from it’s back. “It’s just a messenger.” 

“What is that?” Francis asked, nodding his head towards the paper in Arthur’s hands as the bat took off again, disappearing into the night. The vampire unfolded it, first once, then twice, unfolding it more and more until it was the size of a broadsheet newspaper. It was an impossible sight, such a small square of paper unfolding into a regular sized newspaper. 

“It’s my subscription, what do you think?” the vampire grumbled back, flicking it once and somehow making all the creases disappear. 

“What, to the Daily Prophet?” Alfred joked.

Green eyes gave him an incredulous look. “You think I’d subscribe to that useless rag of a paper? Nothing more than glorified toilet paper, that.” He said snootily. Alfred was struck silent. Thank god. “No, this is the Evening Pulse.”

“Vampires have a newspaper?” Ludwig said, raising his eyebrows like he didn’t believe they could be so civilised. 

“Since 1657, yes.” Arthur replied coldly. He folded the newspaper (only once) and put it under his arm, turning away from the muddy spectacle that was Feliciano and Alfred. “I’ll be taking this inside. Neither of you two are allowed back inside until you’ve got all that mud off you.”

Francis chose not to mention that Arthur was essentially allowing the wolves to come inside in the first place. Instead he just followed the vampire back inside the house and out of the cold. “Anything interesting in there?” he asked casually.

Arthur scanned the front page. “Dracula to host Winter Solstice ball.” he read from the headline, sounding bored. “As though he doesn’t every other year.”

“Dracula exists?” Alfred asked, pausing as he received a glare from Arthur. Removing the foot he had just placed over the threshold of the door, he took his muddy boots off before walking in.

“Of course he exists, Alfred, don’t be daft. He may be a mere count to you humans, but to my kind he’s the King of Vampires.” He entered the library and sat down on his favourite chair. “Not to be taken lightly. Now go get clean or else.”

“Geez, okay, grouchy...” the teen grumbled, slouching off with an equally mucky Feliciano following on his heels. Ludwig, last through the door, shook his head exasperatedly. 

“No need to get snappy with him Arthur, he was only asking.” Francis said, now feeling the glare on him instead. “Humans can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s myth. Poor boy must be confused as to where the line between reality and fiction lies.”

The vampire simply stuck his nose up in the air and opened up the paper. Francis sighed and shook his head, turning to Ludwig. “Want some dinner?” he offered.

The werewolf seemed a little surprised. “... if it’s not too much of a bother.”

“Nonsense chérie, I’ve somehow turned into this house’s cook anyway.” Francis winked, walking past the taller man with an airy chuckle. “Any preferences? Alfred will likely eat anything set in front of him so it’s really up to you.”

“Pasta!!” Came a sudden cry. A very naked, very wet Feliciano came bounding through the hallway, eventually jumping on Ludwig with such force that the two of them fell over in a pile on the floor. Bemused, Francis watched as the taller blonde shouted a long stream of something very angry sounding in German, which he eventually realised his partner would not understand, and thus switched to English. 

“Get off!” he finally managed to push the smaller but much more clingy werewolf off him. Feliciano, undeterred, grinned happily and bounced on the spot.

“Pasta pasta pasta, Alpha, please can we have pasta?” he begged pawing at the other’s leg. 

Ludwig was avoiding eye contact steadfastly. “No. We’re not having it again. We always have pasta.”

Feliciano let out a whine so pathetic you’d think someone had just kicked him in the ribs. “Alpha...” he tried to get into Ludwig’s line of sight.

“No. Nien.” He screwed his eyes shut.

“Per favore?”

“No!”

“... Bitte?”

Ludwig opened one blue eye, and that proved to be his downfall. After all, Francis was certainly finding it hard not to pet the boy when he had such big watery brown eyes.

“... oh _fine_ , just stop giving me that look.” Ludwig half grumbled, half sighed. He found himself with armfuls of Italian almost immediately. Francis enjoyed the nice eyeful he got, complete with wagging tail.

“Thank you, Alpha!” 

He turned a brilliantly bright red. “Alright alright, just go put some clothes on!”

“Okay! Grazie!” an unexpected kiss landed on Ludwig’s cheek, and Feliciano raced back upstairs towards the bathroom, where Alfred’s head could be seen poking out, watching this scene.

“...” He opened his mouth, then closed it, and then finally decided how to comment on this. “Gaaaaaaaaaay.”

“C’est l’amour, mon cher.” Francis chuckled, helping pull a stunned and intensely blushing Ludwig to his feet. “I think I better comment would be to call it “puppy love” or something like that.”

Alfred snapped his fingers. “Damn, I missed an awesome pun.” He seemed genuinely put out, but soon brightened. “If we’re having pasta for dinner, make it spaghetti and meatballs!”

“Yes yes, I am a servant to the world.” Francis rolled his eyes. “Going to help me Ludwig?”

The blonde seemed to be a bit beyond speech at the moment, and mutely shook his head, putting a hand to the cheek where Feliciano had kissed him. 

“Oh oh, I got one!” Alfred said excitedly, pulling on some jeans while hopping down the stairs. “You two are so gay together you can make a double rainbow. All the way. Bam! Haha I’m a genius.”

Ludwig quietly wandered off in a daze, either not getting Alfred’s joke (Francis couldn’t admit to seeing why it was so funny either) or not hearing it at all. Francis resigned himself to cooking alone for the evening.


	8. Chapter 8

“Cold!” yelped Alfred, taking one step out into the night air and then three steps back into the house, wrapping his arms around himself and gritting his teeth. Francis, bundled up in so many layers of clothing he felt and probably looked like an obese hippo, rubbed his hands through his gloves. “Why is it so cold?! It’s only like, November 24th!” he whined, glaring at the outside.

Feliciano padded past them, wolf fur providing him with protection, but even he flinched as the frozen wind gusted across the front porch. Ludwig was more stoic, but his posture indicated he was at least aware of the cold. He held a bag in his mouth, full of clothes. Arthur, on the other hand, was wearing no more than he would in summer, arms folded and looking at the remaining two in the house with annoyance.

“Oh belt up Alfred. I’ll admit the temperature difference is large compared to the start of the month but we’re still a while from the Thames freezing over.” He said, rolling his eyes. Francis wondered if one day they would exasperate him enough to get those eyes to roll straight out of his head. “It’s not exactly California but will you please stop being such a child?”

“Don’t wanna.” Alfred pouted, voice muffled by his scarf. “How cold is it?”

“About -4 Celsius, why?” Arthur said, hands in the pockets of his crisp looking waterproof coat.

After a moment of calculating that in Fahrenheit, Alfred shook his head rapidly. “Oh _hell no_ I am not going out there!” he protested, folding his arms determinedly. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated.

“The snow is predicted to come any day now. You and Francis are going to need food and there’s hardly any left in the house thanks to uninvited guests.” A poisonous green glare shot at the wolves, which Ludwig stoutly ignored. Feliciano seemed too interested in how the fountain had frozen. “And I won’t be able to hunt properly in the snow; anyone would be able to follow me back. We have to get food now, or else starve until the snow goes.”

Alfred pouted sulkily, looking 9 instead of 19. “Only if we get to have McDonald’s tonight.” Was the ultimatum. Arthur grimaced at the same time as Francis.

“Bloody- _fine_ , get McDonald’s. Now, you have to drive Francis in to town, Bristol will do, to get shopping. The wolves are getting their own food on their own budget. I’m going on a hunt. We’re all to be back here by 1am or I’m locking the doors and you can sleep in the shed. Understood?” Arthur sounded like some sort of army officer, Francis mused. What a rag-tag group he was commanding, though.

Alfred seemed to get the same impression, because he saluted with a grin. “Yessir, Captain Kirkland.”

A smirk curled at the vampire’s lip. “Right, it’s 9pm now, so I’ll see you in 4 hours or else.” And with that, he took off at a run into the forest, disappearing between the trees like he’d never been there at all. The wolves also started running, just as fast, but in the other direction, Feliciano’s wagging tail vanishing into the dark as well.

Alfred took a few more brave steps out of the house, drawing in on himself as the cruel wind blew his scarf half off. Blonde hair was half hidden under a hat that Francis suspected Arthur had knitted himself. “He’s such a paranoid old man. I bet it won’t even snow that hard.” Alfred muttered, carefully making his way down the icy steps. Francis closed the door to the house, and followed him.

“Don’t tempt fate, mon cher.” He said, slightly muffled by his own scarf and several jackets zipped up to the neck. “You’re practically asking for it.”

Gloved fingers fumbled with the car keys for a moment, before he managed to unlock the door and get in hurriedly. Francis tapped on the passenger side door, prompting Alfred to unlock the other side. The inside of the car was just as cold, but it was sheltered from the wind. Alfred was muttering something about stupid backwards English roads and cars, trying to get the engine to turn over. The cold made it shudder in several false starts, before finally juddering to life. On the bright side, thought Francis, if they crashed, at least he would have lots of padding to protect him, with all these clothes on.

If Alfred was _deliberately_ trying to kill him, they wouldn’t even slow him down, but Francis tried to put such things from his mind. The more concerned he acted, the faster Alfred would likely catch on, and that was the last thing Francis wanted. If he had to die, he’d prefer it not to be on the receiving end of a vengeful teenage murderer’s chainsaw.

It seemed they weren’t the only ones who had the idea of last minute shopping. The late night stores were packed with people when they were usually deserted at such an hour. The staff were dashing about everywhere, trying to attend to everything at once despite having only the evening shift workers to do it. Once in a while Alfred would follow after one with his eyes, but then dismiss them. Despite not having a chance to kill any one in a while, he was holding up pretty well under temptation. Francis certainly appreciated his self control when they had to spend a long time talking with the butcher in the meat section over certain cuts of beef. Before long, Alfred got bored and said he was going to the bakery, which obviously meant he was going to get a cake of some kind.

The butcher was from France himself, and before long Francis had got carried away in a friendly conversation with the man, glad to be able to speak French again with someone who understood. He got so engrossed that he barely noticed when someone behind them cleared their throat politely.

A young man, possibly in his early 20s, smiled hesitantly at them. Surprisingly, Francis thought he looked quite similar to himself, with blonde hair curling and stopping just short of being girlishly long. His glasses were tinted slightly, hinting at a sight problem, but he could see his eyes were an interesting purple colour behind them. The pale, almost sickly pallor of his skin made Francis wonder if the boy was albino.

“Excuse me sirs.” The young man said in French, fluent sounding but with an obvious accent. “I’m sorry for disrupting you. I just need to buy some pork and then I’ll let you resume your conversation.”

“Oh I’m so sorry.” Francis apologised, picking up his order from the counter. “I didn’t know you were behind me. Your French is quite good.”

The boy beamed. “Thank you! I’m from Quebec.”

Ahh, that explained the accent. “Go ahead and get your order, I was done anyway. Have a nice evening!”

“Ah- you too!” the young man waved as Francis walked off to where he knew he’d find Alfred; near anything sweet. True enough, the boy had his nose pressed to the glass of the cake display cabinet.

“Oh man Francis.” He said longingly as the Frenchman drew closer, not taking his eyes off the cakes. “I could eat all of them…”

Francis didn’t doubt that he could. “You want one?”

“All of them.” Alfred licked his lips. If Gilbert ever did manage to drag this boy to hell, there would be a fight between Greed and Wrath over his soul. “But that one the most.” He pointed to a cute looking cake amongst a collection that all seemed to have flags of the world on them. He had, of course, selected the American one.

“If we get it, you forfeit your right to eat McDonalds.”

Alfred drew back as though disgusted. “What? Oh no way. I’m definitely getting a burger. Come on, let’s pay and go.”

They proceeded through the checkout as normal, Alfred completely ignoring the till girl’s excessive flirting and the way she leaned forward on the counter so he could see her admittedly impressive cleavage. Francis wasn’t going to turn down second hand goods. As Alfred packed the last item into a bag and hefted six of them at once, Francis noticed the boy from earlier looking over at them from one of the other tills. Francis was about to wave, when he noticed the expression on the boy’s face, and that he wasn’t looking at him.

He was looking at Alfred, completely disbelieving.

“Merde.” He muttered under his breath, moving beside Alfred and walking quickly. “Alfred, we have to get out of here. I think someone back there just recognised you.”

Alfred’s head whipped round, scanning behind him. “What, really?”

“Don’t look you idiot!” Francis hissed, pushing him out of the shop and towards the car. “Drive home, and quickly, so we can lose them.”

That boy was from Quebec. The news of the Chainsaw Killer was all over North America; of course he’d be familiar with his face. Disappeared or not, the man hunt for the teen murderer was still on. What if he reported what he saw? No matter how fast and dangerously Alfred drove, Francis couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched, followed. But that was impossible. By the time they were twisting through the country roads on the way to Arthur’s house, there were no other cars but their own. And yet, that feeling wouldn’t go away, so much so that when they finally reached the house, he scanned the driveway for a whole minute, looking for signs that someone was coming.

He nearly had a heart attack when the bushes rustled, and Feliciano walked out, fully clothed and in human form, shortly followed by Ludwig. They didn’t seem to mind the cold, and Feliciano was jabbering away happily like nothing was wrong.

“Ve, and it looks like Arthur’s going to be the last one back after all!” the cheerful Italian exclaimed, looking at both Francis and Alfred. “That’s um…”

“Ironic.” Supplied Ludwig.

“Yeah! That one!”

“Francis thinks someone followed us.” Alfred explained, not seeming too bothered by it now that they were out of the public eye. “If it’s just one, do you guys wanna help me kill him?”

Feliciano drooped. “Ve, I don’t like fighting. Ludwig used to! But now he only does it in self defence since his Alpha was-”

“Feliciano.” The other wolf said warningly. The boy in question shut up quickly. “If he proves to be a threat, I will assist you in neutralising him.”

“Oooh, when you say it like that in your accent it makes you sound all military.” Alfred laughed, marching up the stairs with bags of shopping in hand. “Ein, zwei, ein, zwei!”

Francis prayed for patience. If Alfred wasn’t going to take this seriously then the Frenchman began to wonder why he bothered in the first place.

“Alfred…”

The breathless voice hadn’t come from any of them. They jumped back in surprise as another person seemed to appear out of thin air. No, they’d simply moved very fast, stopping right next to Francis, staring up at the teen on the stairs. Francis tried to control his racing heartbeat as he stared at the exact same boy from earlier in the shop. He was windswept, his clothes looking beaten up compared to earlier and there were leaves in his hair, like he’d lost a fight with a bush. He was standing stock still in an unnatural way, and if it weren’t for the way his eyes kept getting wider and wider, Francis would have thought he’d frozen solid.

Alfred dropped the shopping with a loud thud, the sound of several jars cracking accompanying it. His mouth dropped open.

“Mattie…”

Francis looked from the boy on the steps, to the boy next to them. Now he compared them, they looked strangely alike; similar height, hair colours, and body structures. Their faces were practically identical. It was uncanny.

“You’re alive!” They both cried at the same time, and even their voices were like one person speaking with two accents.

He suddenly became aware of the whimpering sounds Feliciano was making, hiding behind Ludwig slightly. The taller blonde was standing warily, watching the newcomer with proverbial hackles raised. Someone walked around from the side of the house, dragging something with them. As soon as he laid eyes on the scene, Arthur paused in pulling his meal along, looking between the teen murderer and the strange newcomer with an expression that amounted to “oh crap.”

The body’s scent was easily caught from here, and as the new boy’s head turned, Francis saw his eyes burn a dim red.

“Arthur, what’s going on?” they both spoke again, glancing back at each other as their voices harmonised.

“Erm.” The vampire started, red eyes like little pinpricks in the dark. “I can explain.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Explain?” Alfred repeated back to Arthur slowly, completely abandoning the shopping at the top of the stairs and making a slow descent back down them. “You mean... you did this?”

Arthur looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Well, in a way, yes, but it’s not what you-”

“Haha!” Alfred laughed, eyes wide and disbelieving, taking in the appearance of the other, similarly stunned blonde. “I can’t even- wow. I mean, it’s like he’s right here, and real, in front of me! This is one ghost I don’t mind!” He walked up to the other blonde, stopping a few feet away with his hands on his hips, looking him up and down. “I mean, for a ghost he looks pretty convincing-”

He was cut off as suddenly the other boy threw himself at Alfred, grabbing him in a tight hug. “You’re alive! Oh god, you’re alive, you’ve been alive all along and.... and...” Just as quickly as he’d hugged him, he let him go, stepping back and covering his mouth with a gloved hand. “And... you’re warm. You’re...”

“You’re freezing! And solid!” Alfred exclaimed, once he’d gotten over the shock of the contact. “Shit Matt, we need to get you inside before you catch hypothermia- wait, can you do that as a ghost?”

Matthew looked at Arthur again. “Arthur, he’s- he’s human!” He sounded like he was going to faint. Arthur dropped his meal, walking over to the two boys.

“This is a big misunderstanding. You have to let me explain this-”

Alfred was bending over, looking up at Matthew from a lower angle. “You know, it’s funny, but I was sure you’d still have the big hole in your head from where you shot yourself.” He placed two fingers under his own chin in the imitation of a gun. “Bang, your brains went everywhere. Mom cried so loud I had to shut her up too, it got annoying. I’m still working on killing your dad, by the way, I’ve been distracted lately, but don’t you worry Mattie, I’ll get him!” He flashed a winning smile. Matthew’s eyebrows drew close together in a confused expression. He looked positively adorable.

Arthur cut in while he could. “Alfred, listen, this isn’t your brother. And Matthew, he’s not our- your Alfred.”

“But he looks... he’s human...” Matthew shook his head, not understanding the situation at all. To be honest, Francis was quite lost too. And felt a sense of increasing danger, as Alfred was reminded of exactly who had driven his brother to suicide in the first place.

“Mattie, what are you talking about? I’ve always been human...” Alfred seemed to be completely ignoring everyone though, focusing only on the boy who looked like his brother. “You were too, that’s why you’re dead...” For the first time since they had met, Francis saw a flicker of sadness in Alfred’s face. “I didn’t want you to die. You were the only person I ever wanted to stay alive with me. Not even mom mattered as long as I had you.” He placed his hands on Matthew’s head, threading his fingers through tangled curls. “You were the best brother ever. You helped me bury all those bodies, you never turned me in, or yelled at me. You bandaged me up when I got cut on my chainsaw.” A bittersweet smile graced his lips. “You were so good at burying evidence, they still don’t know about those hikers, never will...”

Matthew smacked his hands away, stepping back. His expression had shifted from confused to fearful. “No... who _are_ you?” He uttered slowly. “Alfred Kirkland would never say those things. He hated killing. He hated it so much even if he had to do it to survive. That’s what made him different from the rest of the coven. It’s what made me like him. What made him leave... and never come back.”

“Enough!” Arthur snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This would be a lot less painful on both of you if you would just bloody listen to me!” Finally, he gained their attention. “Alfred. You are already aware that I had a coven before I met you, and that they were... killed.” Both he and Matthew looked to the floor, downcast. “... long before that time, about 30 years before, Matthew gained his Independence from me. This person here,” he indicated to the newcomer. “Is Matthew Williams, not Jones-Fournier. Your brother is still dead and, as far as I’m aware, has moved on to the next world.”

A moment passed in silence, during which Alfred simply stared at Arthur. The vampire continued unabashed.

“Matthew, a few months back I was hunting in the forest when I ran across the human you see before you. This is Alfred F. Jones, crazed murderer from the United States” He indicated the stunned teen, looking just as annoyed about this admission himself. “He is not the young vampire - your dear friend - that went missing in 1777. I have yet to discover any connection between the two. It is a hard truth, and I’d hate to dash your hopes on the rocky shores of reality - both of you - but it is, at least, the truth.”

Quiet fell again.

Matthew took a deep breath in, before exhaling slowly, the sound shuddering slightly like he was holding back tears. He reached up and and removed his glasses. Without the tinted lenses, his softly glowing eyes were clearly visible in the dark. The glasses must have been only to hide his vividly coloured eyes from humans, who would get easily entranced by them. He held out a hand to shake. “... It’s nice to meet you, Mr Jones.”

Alfred stared at the offered hand like it was dirty. “What the hell... that’s not funny Matt, don’t call me that. We’re brothers, come on...”

“Alfred, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.” Arthur sounded exasperated. “I’m sorry Matthew, I should have told you, but I thought you weren’t coming this year.”

“Jacques settled down and promised to behave while I was gone if I gave him hunting privileges. The others are well behaved enough that I don’t need to worry.” Matthew said, sounding emotionally drained. “I guess I won’t be staying my usual two weeks though. I’m sorry Mr Jones, I’m not your Mattie.” If he looked any sadder Francis thought he might burst into tears. “And you’re not my Alfred.”

In a rare moment of speechlessness, Alfred’s mouth opened and shut several times, managing nothing. Finally, he bowed his head, clenching his fists at his sides. At first he was still, but then he started shaking, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands until a tiny trickle of blood escaped. He might have been crying, but if so, he was very good at hiding it. Not a sound escaped him.

Matthew sighed, and turned to Francis. “I met you earlier in the shop, I think. It’s nice to meet you…?”

“Francis, Francis Bonnefoy. Bonsoir.” The Frenchman returned, shaking the boy’s offered hand. But before he could get there, something grabbed his wrist. Looking over, he could see the teenage murderer, head still bowed, was still shaking. 

“Alfred…!” Francis started. A shooting pain from his captured wrist made him stop. He hissed in pain and screwed his eyes shut. From the nasty crunching sound that it had just made, he could assume that his wrist was now broken.

“ _You_ …” the blonde snarled, blue eyes looking up over the frames of his glasses. “Don’t you touch him. You don’t deserve to… making him lie to me like that… course I’m his fucking brother…” His gaze darted between Francis, who was struggling to get out of his iron grip, and Matthew, who appeared alarmed at the sudden change. Whatever strange, rusted cogs turned in Alfred’s head, they were quickly arriving at a conclusion that was making him angry. Francis had never seen him angry before. He didn’t want to. "I knew it. I fucking _knew it_ and I didn't do anything, because nobody's that stupid, right? But it was you all along. It's always been you." he snarled like an animal. "Seeing you next to Mattie... now I know for sure!"

At some point the werewolves had escaped, slipping away unnoticed. France became aware they were gone only once he’d been thrown to the floor sideways, his wrist twisting painfully in Alfred’s grip, and was left staring at where they had once been standing. He let out a pained gasp as another crack sounded. His arm was broken. Dieu, that hurt, that hurt a lot. He’d not dealt with a broken bone in over a hundred years, and the pain was enough to send him into a stream of French swears.

“Shut the fuck up!” Alfred yelled, right in his ear before grinding Francis’ face into the dirt. A knee landed on his back with enough force to fracture a rib, and Francis suddenly found it even more difficult to breathe. Distantly, he could hear Arthur yelling something, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and Alfred yelling. “You never liked me from the start! You always tried to keep me and Mattie apart, just out of fucking spite! You never even loved Mattie, not like I did! And now I’m on the fucking run, and Mattie’s dead! And it’s all your fault, all _your fucking fault_ you motherfucking- Mattie get off, lemme kill him! I’m gonna kill him!”

The blow to the side of Francis’ head felt like it could have knocked it clean off. Consciousness faded in and out. Another hit rained down, and another. This was it. He was going to die. He’d picked the wrong stupid body to jump into and now he was going to pay for something he hadn’t even done.

Merde.

“Why won’t you just die, Phillipe Fournier!” 

And then there was blackness.

\----

Francis came to and wished that he hadn’t. Everything hurt. He felt bruised all over. He probably was bruised all over, he realized as memories of what happened came back in a painful rush. It was a small wonder he wasn’t dead. Well, technically he was and had been for hundreds of years…

He cursed to himself when he realized after all that, he still was stuck in this body.

“If you have energy to talk you should use it to heal.” Came a familiar snarky voice. Francis would have opened his eyes, but they appeared to be swollen shut. “You’ve been unconscious some three days. I’m surprised Alfred didn’t literally beat your brains out. Matthew had to restrain him and knock him out. There’s been no living with him since. He’s glued to Matthew’s side and won’t leave him alone. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“You say that… like it’s my fault, cher…” Francis rasped, discovering how difficult it was to talk with broken ribs. 

“You’re the one who talked to him in the meat isle in the first place.”

“And you… simply can’t… _stand_ to blame Alfred… can you.” It wasn’t a question. Sometimes Arthur’s weakness for the boy went too far. From the long silence after his words, Francis knew he’d hit right on target.

“It’s a lot harder to blame the mentally deranged for their actions.” He defended eventually. “Either way your body’s not healing like it’s meant to, and I’m going to have to research to see if there’s a way to heal it at all. You’re bed bound until then. I’m sure Bess will keep you company. She does like to sit with the dying.”

Francis smiled, but it hurt. “Your… bedside manner… needs to be a little less morbid… Nurse Kirkland.”

Arthur sniffed. “Doctor. Now shut up and go back to sleep. There’s not much you can do but that until I find a fix for this.”

The closing of a door sounded, and then quiet returned. The bed was heated, probably out of consideration for Francis’ variable body temperature, and for a moment he wondered how it had come to pass that Arthur would care enough about him that he’d save him from someone like Alfred.

Either way, he decided, it was time to do a little research of his own. With nothing to do for potentially days, it was time to dust off a little technique he’d uncovered a couple of hundred years ago. It wasn’t hard to retrieve memories like passwords and PIN from those he’d possessed, it was something needed in the world these days. But now, he needed to go deeper, as corny as that sounded. 

It was time to get to the bottom of Phillipe Fournier and Alfred’s past.


	10. Chapter 10

The technique took a lot of concentration, not to mention time, but with Alfred distracted and Francis’ current body bedridden, he had plenty of both. He tried to get as comfortable as possible, closed his eyes, and forgot reality. Focusing inward, he pictured a library. The one he was currently in was full of his own books, his own memories, all arranged in one long isle, stretching in front of him and behind him. These kinds of things were stored in his soul, not his brain. It meant his memory was patchy at times, not having a proper filing system a brain would provide. All the books were out of order. If Arthur saw, he’d have a fit. The shelves carried on into nothingness, but in the distance was a dark shadow, obscuring several of the bookcases. The blank in his memory had been what had encouraged him to learn the technique in the first place off an old gypsy woman. But every time he went near the blackness, he was overcome with terror, and found himself running away. 

Well, this time he wasn’t here for a test of courage. Turning around, he walked away from the shadow, and towards a door at the other end of the long aisle bookshelves. There was a door, almost obscured by the bookshelf. He imagined it moved, and so it did. The door was of old wood, oak perhaps. Fitting for the person he was possessing. He turned the handle, and entered.

This time, there wasn’t a library. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realised he was in a theatre, a movie house. The screen was dark, and there were no other lights but dim LEDs along the runways between the seats. Francis felt his way along, before deciding just to sit down already. No need to prolong this any further. Everything in the theatre reacted to mental commands after all, like all things in this inner world. What was he, trying to find a remote?

Just like that, the weight of a remote registered in his hand. Well, he’d asked for that one. He fumbled with it, pointing it at the screen and pressing all the buttons until he finally hit “on”. 

The projector hidden somewhere behind him whirred to life, shining a flickering image onto the screen. It was decayed, like old memories were, with holes in it and random jumps. From the glimpses of a crib and a ball, as well as various other childhood toys, it seemed Francis had gone right to the beginning of Phillipe’s life. This was much too early. Now with the light of the screen to see by, he pressed fast forward. The imaged sped up, becoming clearer and less patchy over time, but still with jumps between events. Nobody remembered what they ate for breakfast every day. The soundtrack sped up too, but he could still tell that the people in it were speaking French. So, born and raised in France, was he?

Francis stopped the fast forwarding when there was suddenly a long, focused shot of a young lady. Rewinding a little, he saw Phillipe boarding a plane. To the United States, he knew instantly, in the same way one knows things in dreams. Phillipe was going to university in the United States. It skipped forward again, through several scenes of his dorm room, speaking nervous English to his new suite mates, fellow international students from Spain and Germany. And then they came back to the image of the girl. Her hair was a light brown, though when the sun caught it through the window it looked a little blonder. She was doodling on her class notes, Francis viewing her from the side a few seats away. 

Francis could have laughed from the sheer saturation of hormonal and emotional attraction in that one image. Phillipe was clearly infatuated. It was obvious. Ah, l’amour. 

He was then treated to a quite romantic-comedy-esque sequence of Phillipe trying and failing to get the courage to ask her out. His friends consoled him, encouraged him, mocked him for going after young Miss Annabell Jones. That gave Francis pause. If this woman eventually ended up being Alfred’s mother, why had he kept her name? The immediate answer that he could think of was that he hated Phillipe that much. But that still didn’t seem quite right.

While he had been pondering, the film had finally got round to Phillipe asking Annabell out. Once he’d actually got his nerve together, the boy was a regular Casanova, charming the young lady easily that she said yes. It was so idyllic that Francis began to wonder if the boy would always be seeing everything through rose-tinted lenses. Through their consecutive dates, love making and shared moments of happiness, Francis watched them in their joy, knowing full well that it would end inevitably in a shower of blood. When they fought, they fought bitterly, and it took them weeks to get over their pride and face each other again. But by the time they’d finished their university degrees, they were married, and looking for a home together.

“Ph-Phillipe...” stammered Annie, as her name had been shorted to affectionately. “I’m pregnant!”

Phillipe choked on his breakfast cereal. Francis watched with amusement as he tried to regain his composure. “Mon dieu, enceinte?!” 

“I don’t speak French, Phillipe.” Annie said, but smiled fondly, resting her hands on her currently flat stomach. “But you’ll teach our baby, right?”

Phillipe got up and went to her, enclosing her in a hug. The out-pouring of emotion was like a tidal wave, Francis was nearly overwhelmed. “Of course, of course... he’ll be magnificent, ma cherié, you’ll see...”

But as time and Annie’s pregnancy drew on, the relationship grew strained. As a translator for an elected official, Phillipe often had to be away from the house, and he knew Annie was growing suspicious that he was having an affair. With her hormonal mood swings only sparking more fights, it seemed that paradise was quickly fading. They argued, and argued, and in one instance Annie went back to her parents for a month. However, she was back with Phillipe when her waters broke, and luckily the man himself was there to watch it.

She almost broke his hand while in labor. 

“Matthew.” she gasped when she finally held her tiny baby boy in her hands for the first time. “Hello little Matthew...”

“Bonsoir, mon petite Mattieu...” Phillipe whispered too, smiling at the little red bundle. It hiccupped, and squinted with baby blue eyes at it’s parents.

Francis didn’t really care for the ups and downs of parenting for a young child. He held down fast forward until he saw something he didn’t expect, and quickly re-wound. A court hearing.

“... this court rules that Phillipe Fournier shall have custody of the child, Matthew Fournier-Jones. The jury has decided this due to the father’s possession of financial and mental stability in comparison to the mother’s. However, Annabell Fournier, as of this divorce known as Annabell Jones, shall be granted visitation rights of- Miss Jones, please control yourself.”

Annie was screaming insults at the top of her lungs at Phillipe, and had to be restrained by the barrister. The judge pounded their gavel on the desk. “Order, I will have order in my court! Miss Jones, if you cannot settle down I will have you removed from the courtroom!”

Grimacing at the ugly scene, Francis pressed fast-forward again. Annie moved away, and Phillipe raised Matthew, two years old at the time of their split, until the boy was seven. Then, a change in job required him to move south to Texas. Francis could feel Phillipe’s unhappiness at the move, as well as see it on his young son’s face. Even at this age, there was a startling resemblance between him and Alfred, as well as him and Arthur’s Matthew. He wore glasses, and his eyes were still blue, not the strange lilac that Matthew Kirkland’s were, but their faces were similarly structured, round and gentle and soft in appearance.

Unpacking was a messy affair, but Matthew was very helpful; ferrying things he could hardly carry from the moving van to the house. He was carrying quite a heavy looking box when he stopped, dropping it. 

“Mattieu, qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” Phillipe called over, concerned as the boy’s eyes widened. “Mattieu?”

“M-maman!” the boy stammered, abandoning the box and running out behind the van. Shock raced through Phillipe. Annie had always come to them; he had no idea she lived even close to here. But as Matthew ran into her arms, both their alarmed and surprised expressions locked. 

“Mom, who’s that?” asked a boy by her side. His piercing stare went straight through Phillipe, and so penetrating that Francis felt like the young boy was staring at him directly. But that couldn’t be. This was just Phillipe’s memories. The boy was blonde with messy hair that stuck up in places. His knees were scraped and covered with band-aids, and he seemed to only be about five or six. His clothes were a little over-sized, and he dragged a plush bunny along by the ears in one hand. 

Alfred looked at Phillipe with cold intensity, judging his very being with one look.

Annie mistook his question. “This is your half-brother, Matthew. I go and see him sometimes, remember? You go and stay with granny Maria then.”

Alfred wrinkled his nose. “Oh. Who’s that man over there, then?” He pointed at Phillipe, a motion that somehow felt like a death threat.

“… Matthew’s father.” Annie answered after a pause. She kept her face carefully blank. Alfred frowned.

“Isn’t he the one that makes you cry a lot?”

“Hush darling.” Annie said lowly, but not enough not to be heard. Phillipe swallowed his pride, as well as his odd fear of Annie’s apparent second child, and approached her.

“Annie.” He started, then paused, feeling the cold blue stare of the young boy on him. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“No. I guess you didn’t.” she said slowly, standing up with Matthew balanced on her hip. The quiet boy was enjoying being back with his mother, burying is face in her shoulder. “You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

“Unless he did it because it’s his evil plan!” Alfred piped up cheerfully. “He’s the bad guy because bad guys make mommy cry. I’m going to be like Superman and defeat you!” He put his fingers on the side of his head and squinted. “Pew pew! Laser vision!”

Annie chuckled. “Sweetie, you can’t melt him in the middle of the street, the neighbours will get upset.” Alfred looked put out at this news, and crossed his arms to sulk. Annie put Matthew down, and the boy reluctantly let her go. “Why don’t you two go and get acquainted?”

“What’s ak-wain-ted?” asked Alfred.

“It means to get to know each other.” Matthew offered shyly, gaining Alfred’s attention but oddly not flinching from his piercing stare. “Um… I’m Matthew.”

Alfred grinned, wide and bright as the sun, and the tense atmosphere seemed to vanish from around him. “Hi! I’m Alfred, I like climbing trees, do you like climbing trees? I also go and swim in the river even if mommy says there might be gators but then I can just beat them up and save the day! Hey, do you know how to swim? If you don’t I can push you in and then save you from drowning and get in all the papers-!”

He seemed fully capable of babbling on forever, so Francis hit fast forward again. Matthew grew and grew, becoming a 10 year old in the blink of an eye. Phillipe’s job was even more demanding than his last one, and he sadly saw little of his son, not only because he was out late, but because the boy frequently stayed over at Annie and Alfred’s for dinner and then the night. In several instances, Phillipe allowed the boys to stay in his house instead, but he could never sleep well in the night. He always felt like something was watching him, something with the intent to do harm. No, more than harm. To kill.

It may have been a dream, or maybe the recollection was so panicked it distorted the image. Francis had to rewind a bit, as he played too fast over the moment and couldn’t believe his eyes. At normal speed, the movements of the memory seemed jerky and stilted. Panic, then, must have been the cause for the strangeness of the memory. A sense of terrified foreboding emanated from the screen, giving Francis goosebumps. Only the streetlamp’s light shining through the window illuminated the bedroom. For a while, the scene froze, and Francis wondered if it was the projector acting up. He would have fiddled with the remote, but the image it froze on was too terrifying for him to look away from, freezing him in place.

Alfred, in the yellow light of the streetlamp, was standing over Phillipe’s bed, smiling that unsettling smile that he gained when he spotted prey. Blue eyes bored into Phillipe’s own with a determined certainty.

“I’m gonna kill you.” He whispered like a secret.

The film skipped, changed scene. By the time the whirl of darkness and flashes of light had passed, and the panic filling the room had faded, Phillipe was at the airport, sitting in a plane bound for France, heart racing. He didn’t calm down until the plane took to the air. 

Francis sat back in wonder, echoing the sentiment Phillipe kept playing over and over again in his head.

_‘That boy is a monster.’_

For two long years, Phillipe stayed in his parent’s house in Nice, wracked with fear and then guilt over leaving his son behind without warning. He didn’t feel he could face going back, and wondered if his son would ever forgive him. From what Francis knew of Matthew’s character, he guessed that the boy would be more than pleased just to have his father back home. He allowed himself to feel slightly smug when it turned out he was right.

Matthew was 15 now, a gangly teenager full of hormones and sporting glasses as well as longer hair. He looked a lot like his father, but still bore more resemblance to Alfred than should have been possible, as they were only half brothers. Alfred was almost as tall as Matthew despite being a year younger, and was on the school baseball team, with the potential to become captain. His terrifying aura was muted now, but Francis and Phillipe knew it was only hidden behind that wide and cheerful smile. Despite the tales Matthew told of him being the most popular guy in school, Alfred never seemed to bring home a girlfriend, or any friends at all. Just him and Matthew, every day.

Rather than split the boys up again now that Matthew had got so attached to his brother, Phillipe relented to his son’s pleas to at least live in with them. Annie tolerated him, and over time became a little more friendly with him. They proposed to start over with a clean slate, and moved into Phillipe’s bigger house. 

Still, Alfred bothered him. While he was never openly hostile, sometimes Phillipe would get that terrible feeling again, of being watched, of being hunted. Occasionally, if Matthew and Phillipe had had an argument, it was almost as bad as the time when he’d fled back to France.

He endured. He endured it for his son, who had never done anything wrong by him. He endured it for the poor, innocent boy, held in the clutches of that monster, so close he could never hope to break him away now.

The pattern continued, and Francis fast-forwarded again, until the film reel slowed down on it’s own. This had to be a significant event, for this to happen on it’s own. Matthew was sitting on the sofa across from Phillipe, crying quietly to himself. Phillipe waited patiently for his son to speak whatever was upsetting him. Alfred was at baseball practice, and thus wouldn’t be home for hours. Annie was at work as well. It was just the two of them, like it used to be.

“Papa…” Matthew began, wiping at his eyes. “I can’t take this any more. I have to say something. It’s killing me.”

Phillipe frowned. “Go ahead, I’m listening. It’s alright, it’s just me.”

Matthew shook his head. “What I’ve done is u-unforgivable!” he sobbed, looking up at his father with the most guilt-ridden expression Francis had ever seen on someone so young. He had to be 18 at the most. “I should never have helped him! But he’s my only brother, he’s my _only_ brother!” 

“Shh, take a deep breath, tell me what’s happened.” Phillipe soothed him, but Francis had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going.

“He… I…. Alfred’s killed two people!” Matthew suddenly blurted, and then the words came out like water from a broken dam. “He’s been killing animals for years and years, ever since you left, and I never told anyone, I just helped him bury the bodies. But the animals just got bigger and bigger, birds then cats then dogs then the one time he killed a _bear_ and a wolf! And I just buried them and didn’t say anything! We worked together the whole time and nobody’s ever realized! We’ve been doing such awful things- I’ve been doing such awful things, but there was never a human before- and now- now!” he collapsed into sobs, burying his face in his hands. “Two people! They were just hikers, just normal people, a couple!”

Phillipe was numb, staring at his son. His son, who had been helping Alfred murder neighbourhood pets, and cover up the evidence. His son, who had buried two people, god knows where. His son, who collaborated with a monster, lied to his parents, to the world, just to keep a monster safe.

He felt sick. 

“I can’t take this, I can’t!” Matthew cried, looking to Phillipe like he was his last hope. He probably was. “It’s too much for me. Papa, you have to help me…”

Phillipe slowly got to his feet. 

“I’m going to the police.”

Matthew leapt up too. “Papa, no! They’ll arrest Alfred! They’ll give him life in prison! They might even give him the death penalty!” He grabbed onto his father’s arm, desperately pleading. “Please, let’s all just go to France, let’s leave here and not come back!”

“And then what, let him get away with more murders?!” Phillipe snapped, fear and anger driving his temper. Matthew looked like he’d been slapped in the face. 

The door to the lounge opened, and Annie stood in the hall. “What on earth’s going on?!”

Matthew leapt for his mother. “Mama, you have to listen to me!”

“Alfred’s murdered two people.” Phillipe said flatly. He’d known for so long that the boy was capable. And he had done _nothing_. “I’m going to the police.”

“Mama, please, you have to stop him! I hid the bodies, nobody will find them, I’ve been hiding bodies for years now, just animals but now there’s people and- and…” he collapsed forward onto her, and she drew him into a protective hug, glaring over her shoulder at Phillipe. As though this was _his_ fault.

“I will not let my sons – either of them – go to jail, not in this state.” She said firmly. “We’re going north, I know a place we can stay, Alfred’s father-”

“You’d protect a murderer?!” Phillipe yelled.

“I’d protect my _son!_ ” Annie snapped back, glaring poisonous daggers at him. “You should protect yours as well!”

Phillipe squared his shoulders. “I am protecting him. By getting that lunatic put away where he belongs!” He stormed past the two of them, ignoring Matthew calling after him. 

“Papa! Papa, no!”

“I will not be associated with a house of murderers!” he yelled, completely lost in the heat of the moment, the emotional whirlwind, the terror and the anger and the frustration.

“You’re a part of this family!” Matthew cried desperately. “He’s my brother! He’s your son!”

Phillipe span around to face Matthew, one hand on the door of his car. “If he is your brother, then I have no son!”

Matthew stared at him, and it took a moment for Phillipe to realize what he’d just said. The completely devastated look on Matthew’s face was almost too much for Francis, who was covering his mouth from the surprise of it all. Everything overturned, so quickly…

Phillipe got in the car, not saying another word. Matthew stood frozen to the spot on the front lawn. Driving off in a screech of tires, Phillipe made straight for the police station. 

He got to the corner of the street, and passed Alfred. Blue eyes locked onto him for a second, but neither could react in time. Phillipe sped off, and resolved to keep going all the way to the police station. 

The drive took ten minutes, which was ten minutes too long for any person this paranoid and desperate. 

Phillipe’s arrival at the police station was almost unnoticed in the flurry of activity. Everyone was running around, piling on protective clothing and coats and loading weapons. Only one officer bothered to stop and ask him why he was here, and even then it was in short, clipped tones.

“My son has murdered two people.”

This gave pause to anyone within hearing range. The officer frowned.

“22 Maple Avenue?”

Phillipe’s eyes widened. “Yes…”

“That’s funny, because we thought we were dealing with a murder and a suicide.” The man’s look became concerned. “Are you Phillipe Fournier?”

“Y… yes…”

The officer exchanged a look with a companion. “I think you’d better sit down. Your lady has been murdered… and your son shot himself.” He looked regretful at having to deliver this news. “And… your other son-”

“Is no son of mine!” Phillipe snapped, turning on his heel to go back out of the door.

“Sir! Sir you’ve got to stay here, he’s after you!”

Phillipe stopped, looking behind him. “Quoi?”

“He’s the one who called us sir. He said he’d killed his mother, and that his brother had shot himself.” The police looked mildly terrified at the memory. “He said you’re next. Sounded pretty sure of himself too.” Francis could hear how fast Phillipe’s heart was pounding, like it was right next to his ear. “You’ve got to stay in police custody.”

Phillipe bolted. 

Francis regained control of the fast forward button, watching at top speed as Phillipe raced through counties, then states, across borders and mountains, even going off road. But still Alfred followed him, continued to track him doggedly, murdering gleefully for fun in his wake. It seemed he’d picked up a chainsaw as his signature weapon, but plenty of other murders were attributed to him as well. If there was an unsolved murder, it was Alfred’s fault. After a month, Phillipe boarded a plane back to France, but couldn’t bring himself to go to his family this time. If Alfred followed him there… he could never forgive himself.

Not that he could forgive himself anyway.

Matthew…

Phillipe met Francis in a back alley in Toulouse.


	11. Chapter 11

“Any idea what caused this in the first place?”

“Other than Alfred using his head as a football? No, not really.”

“Well I’ve done everything I can for now. There are no other injuries left, thanks to Miss Vermeulen.”

“Hahaha, you’re too nice, Roderich. Sorry to deprive you of your fun, Elizaveta.”

“Oh, it’s alright really! I got to play with the human boy, that was fun!”

“You’d better replace those rose bushes.”

He cracked open his eyes to find himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Where was he? Who were these voices?

“Oh, he’s awake!”

A blonde head came into view, the lamp on the bedside table not illuminating much, though his eyes remained clearly visible by the way they glowed in the dark. Someone moved behind him, a girl with blonde hair that bobbed around her chin in soft waves. Atop her head was a large, pointed, purplish-black hat. Her smile was catlike, olive eyes curious.

“Hey Francis, you okay?”

Francis...?

Oh!

Suddenly realising he was not, in fact, Phillipe Fournier, Francis Bonnefoy sat up in bed, blinking at the bedroom. Standing at the end of his bed were Roderich and Elizaveta, chatting away in a language he couldn’t understand but which contained sounds that shouldn’t be possible with a human tongue. Which was fine, because they weren’t human. The demon doctor’s unusual purple eyes were complimented by a shirt of the same colour, worn under a white coat. Dark hair was combed back, such a similar colour to his short, black horns that they were nearly indistinguishable.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Francis asked, voice slightly scratchy from disuse. He smiled over at the young blonde witch beside him. “Certainly, seeing you again was unexpected, mon petite Alice.”

The girl pouted. “I’m not little any more! It’s been years since you saw me!” she protested. Ah yes, Belgium; a beautiful country with beautiful cities and beautiful women. And also a witch’s coven. “I’ve got my full license and everything now, and it’s thanks to me that you woke up at all!” She poked his shoulder with a broom that must have appeared from nowhere. “You could say thank you, you know.”

Spotting his mildly confused look, Arthur explained. “You went into a coma while I was researching, pretty much as soon as I left the room. So I called in some help.” He shrugged one shoulder, looking away. Francis chuckled.

“Ah, Sourcilles, you needn’t have worried. I put myself in that coma.” he smiled up at the vampire. A blush quickly rose in Arthur’s cheeks.

“I wasn’t worried! I just want you out of my house and the fastest was is to get you healed.” He huffed, folding his arms, then paused. “Wait, you put _yourself_ in a coma?” Roderich raised his eyebrows at him, and Elizaveta made an intrigued noise. Francis smiled, and explained what he’d done. Arthur’s impressively large eyebrows climbed higher and higher.

“You saw… Alfred’s past?” he said incredulously.

“I saw Phillipe’s past.” Francis corrected. “It’s an important difference. I’ve gained no more insight into Alfred’s psyche than you have over the past 8 months he’s stayed with you.” He grimaced, flashes of that young boy with the piercing eyes filling his head and making him shiver. “All I know is that he’s always been the way he is. And that your Matthew is certainly similar enough to his Mattie to support his delusions.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to pull a frustrated face. “Well that’s just wonderful. He’s been impossible to get rid of, poor Matthew’s at his wit’s end. It doesn’t help that he…” the vampire swallowed, frown deepening. “… he really does look like our Alfred.”

“Ah, such a pitiful situation.” Sighed Elizaveta. Roderich seemed completely unmoved by their plight. Typical of him. “Should I call Gilbert so he can laugh at you?”

“Oh spare us, please.” Roderich droned sarcastically. Elizaveta giggled at him.

“Anyway, we should go save him.” Arthur cut over them, walking towards the door. “You’ve been unconscious for a while. It’s December 3rd now.”

Francis’ eyebrows climbed. Wow, reviewing a whole lifetime, even with a fast forward button, really did take a long time. He swung his feet out of bed feeling much stronger than he had before he’d been beaten to a pulp. “Arthur, how can you be sure that he’s not going to beat me half to death again?”

The vampire paused. “He said he wouldn’t.”

Francis stared, gobsmacked. Elizaveta burst into laughter, while Roderich tutted disapprovingly, shaking his head. Alice made gesture up around her head. 

“I can’t believe you sometimes Arthur. You are something else.” The young witch said with an air of exasperated wonder. “Always the pick the weird ones. And always humans. Makes you seem kind of weird yourself.”

Arthur sniffed in a manner so haughty it made Roderich seem humble. “Don’t you have a coven to get back to.” He grumbled at her. The cat-like smile returned.

“I do, and I should go before my brother messes something up~!” she cheered. Behind her, the window flew wide open. “Have fun with your thingy that’s coming up, Arthur! I think Lars is running security~ so I might see you there!” And with a flourish of her long purple skirt and cape, she hopped on her broom, and rocketed out of the open window. She reached a great height, then looped back round to hover outside the window. “Oh yeah, and I almost forgot, I’ve got a letter for you! From werewolves though, so dunno if you want it.”

Arthur eyed the envelope she produced from apparently nowhere, then walked to the window and took it off her sulkily, handing it to Francis to read. The Frenchman opened it up, and found two hastily scrawled notes.

_Dear everyone!  
 ~~Lud~~ Alpha and I are in Ohio now, isn’t that cool? The food here is kind of bad but there’s loads of forests for us to spend the full-moon. There’s two of us so don’t worry about us biting people, we can keep each other busy with lots and lots of ~~se~~_

The note stopped there, and then continued in different, neater handwriting.

_I wish to thank Arthur Kirkland for his hospitality despite our differences. In my decision as Alpha I found it too dangerous to stay any longer, considering the vampires now outnumber the werewolves, and the power balance is disturbed._

_I wish you luck with Alfred.  
You may need it._

Somehow, Francis felt that last part was addressed to him specifically. He folded the note into his pocket, and noticed Arthur had already walked out of the room. Elizaveta and Roderich were back to talking in their demonic language, and it was starting to make Francis’ head hurt, so, with a due sense of dread, he made his own way down the hallway to where light shone through a crack in the door of the library. Alfred’s voice, as ever, preceded him.

“Wow Mattie, you look good in a suit.”

“Eheheh, I guess so, but everyone was wearing them back then so it wasn’t very special.” After hearing the human Matthew’s voice, Francis could certainly see the supports for Alfred’s mad delusions. They were so similar. Hard to believe it was all simply terrible, terrible coincidence. “Arthur’s always liked suits, haven’t you Arthur.”

“They make people look more respectable.” Said Arthur’s voice, almost defensively. “I liked my coven to look respectable.”

“Even Brooke?”

“ _Especially_ Brooke.” And there, an odd kind of affectionate exasperation, mixed with sadness. “God knows if the boy couldn’t act like a grown up he could at the very least look like one.”

“Looks like a fun guy. And the ginger dude at the back.”

“Oh good lord. That’s my older brother, James.”

“There are people older than _you_?”

“Francis, for one.”

Silence fell. The man in question waited at the door, still and quiet, waiting for the response.

“Oh yeah, he’s like 700 isn’t he?” said Alfred brightly. “But how can you have an older brother if vampires don’t have parents?”

“I was human once.” Arthur said, sounding a little bit affronted by the memory of being so low on the food chain. “I had a mother and a father. Last of four children, I was. A vampire attacked my family, killed our mother and father, and then proceeded to turn my siblings and I. In age order, as a matter of fact.” Now Francis peeked through the gap in the door, it seemed that Arthur had actually gone as far as to bring the large group painting down from the storage room, leaning it against the bookcase and pointing out people. “Aine, the eldest and my only sister, with the red hair here. Looked a lot like our mother, but didn’t have her gentleness. James, second eldest, was a drinker even before he was turned, after which he tended to drag home intoxicated kills straight from the pub. Easiest way to get a vampire drunk. Darren…” he stopped, hand lingering above the image of a man who looked similar to Arthur, but was more stocky and had a softer face and curly hair. “… quite frankly, too kind for his own good.” He finished quietly.

“How do you mean?” Alfred pressed. Francis, even from the door, felt the atmosphere become suddenly uncomfortable. Matthew shifted in his seat. 

“Alfred…” he murmured, voice hushed. “Maybe you shouldn’t ask Arthur-”

“When the Hunters found my coven, I was visiting Matthew and his new coven in Quebec.” Arthur cut over. Francis couldn’t see his face, still looking at the painting. “They demanded to see the coven leader… I wasn’t there. Darren posed as me, and received a brutal death in exchange… for stopping the torture of those the hunters had already caught.” Fingers brushed down over the painting, over the faces of Brooke and several other younger members. 

Matthew got up out of his chair, and laid a gentle hand on Arthur’s arm. He didn’t say anything. Francis chose that moment to walk into the room before Alfred said something extremely stupid. The door creaked as it opened and drew attention on to him. He made a point of noticing that Alfred’s glasses definitely detracted from his terrifying gaze. 

“Good evening.” He greeted them all. Arthur turned his back on the painting. Matthew’s gaze flickered to Alfred for a moment, but then returned. His expression told nothing. “What did the note say?” 

Note? Oh, the one from the wolves. “They’re in the states having lots of sex.”

Alfred laughed, Matthew choked on nothing, and Arthur’s face took on an expression that Francis didn’t even have a name for, besides _hilarious_. He somehow managed to continue without chuckling.

“They also send their thanks for letting them stay here. Ludwig did at least.” Seemed the German man was the more polite of the two, or a least one more likely to pay attention to social niceties, even between vampires and werewolves.

Arthur turned his nose up. “Hmph. Good riddance.” 

“Hey, come on, they were cool.” Alfred said, flapping a hand at Arthur. “Even if they did freak out and run off without even saying bye.”

Something hit the window of the library with a thud, drawing the attention of the room to the scene outside. Snow was falling in thick clumps, and for the first time Francis realized that he must have slept through the start of the snow. There had to be at least two feet of it out there. They had been right to go get food after all, even with the consequences it had. The light from the house reflected off the snow to make nearly the whole area outside the house visible up to the trees of the forest that surrounded the estate. Fluttering at the window and regularly being blown into it by the wind, was a large bat. 

“Oh do let the poor thing in, Francis.” Arthur said, but strode over to the window himself, undoing the latch and letting the extremely damp and snow-covered bat into the room. It fluttered about until it landed on a bookshelf. On it’s back was a small letter. Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Hm? What’s this?”

He plucked it off the back of the bat, and opened it himself. Everyone waited silently for the verdict, Alfred absently flicking through a book he clearly wasn’t interested in. Francis was watching Arthur’s expression, which turned from interested, to exasperated, to slightly blushing, and then to outright panicked. He crumpled the letter in his hand, looking straight to Matthew.

“The Ball!” he cried, one hand going up to his head.

Matthew blinked. “Eh?”

“The cursed Winter Solstice Ball! His Majesty Dracula is holding it and Carmilla just wrote to wonder how we were traveling there tonight! Matthew, we have to go!” He grabbed the younger vampire by the wrist and dragged him towards the door. Alfred grabbed his other arm, lightning quick.

“Woah there Arthur, what’s goin’ on? Why does Mattie have to go?” Francis may have become more sensitive to the subtle changes Alfred’s moods went through, now he’d seen him as he was as a child. Certainly, he could feel the dangerous jealousy in how he clung to his new “brother”. Arthur looked frustrated.

“Matthew is a Sire, he represents his coven as their leader and not attending a party like this would be disastrous for his reputation.” He explained in irritated tones. “And I’m going because Carmilla will come over and drag me if I don’t and good lord, nobody wants that.”

“Is this Carmilla as in the vampire with strange tastes?” Francis asked. He’d certainly heard of her, a vampire who only went after young girls, and chose not to kill them immediately, but “play with her food” as it were. More than once, she’d fallen in love with her prey, in particular a young lady called Laura. She was quite a scandalous figure. Strange that Arthur would be associated with her. The vampire in question shot him a look.

“Yes, that would be her.” He said gruffly, pulling at Matthew again. “We really must go.”

It hit Francis that moment that he’d be left all alone in the house in this situation. Alone. With Alfred.

“Do they allow guests?” _Please take me with you and don’t leave me here with this madman._

Both Arthur and Matthew gave him a look like he’d grown a second head. “You’re in a human body. They’d eat you.” Arthur said bluntly. And there went Francis’ escape attempt. The Englishman seemed to get the sentiment, however, and looked over to Alfred. “If you kill him while I’m gone, I’m kicking you out.”

Alfred pouted like a child. “Mean.”

“Promise you’ll behave.”

The teenager shrugged. “Don’t I always?”

 _’No,’_ Francis thought in his head. _’No, you really, really don’t.’_

“I’m not gonna kill Francis, promise. Cross my heart.” He motioned crossing his heart, holding his hand up like a boy scout. He really was just an overgrown child sometimes. “Have I ever lied to you?”

 _’Probably.’_

A heavy hand landed on Francis’ shoulder, Alfred grinning and standing a good few inches taller than him. “Don’t worry and go party, Arthur. Maybe it’ll make you act like you’ve got less of a stick up your ass.”

Matthew covered his mouth to hide a snigger, making sure not to look when Arthur shot him a glare. “Fine, we’re going then. Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“Yeah yeah, just go already. You stay safe, alright Mattie?”

“I’ll be fine Alfred.” He still hesitated on the name, not that Alfred really noticed around his delusions. He followed Arthur out of the room, and straight outside. Francis watched from the window as both vampires stood on the snowy front porch, and spread their arms out in front of them. Nothing happened for a few moments, before Francis picked up the familiar sound of a thousand flapping wings. Like a cloud of pure, leathery blackness, Arthur’s bats descended on him, soon followed by ever more bats enveloping Matthew. As soon as they completely vanished from sight, blocked by the whirlwind of bats, the animals quickly dispersed, leaving nothing left. It was an impressive form of teleportation, but nonetheless, it still left one terrifying fact.

He was alone in the house with a serial killer who had a grudge against him.

The hand Alfred still had on his shoulder tightened painfully. Francis wondered if he was planning to snap his collarbone. “So.” The teen said in a cheery tone. “Still sure you’ve never heard of Phillipe Fournier?”

All those weeks ago, when Alfred had told him about the man he’d been searching for, he’d stumbled on the name like he was unfamiliar with it. How Francis didn’t figure his act out from the start… he felt like hitting his head against a wall.

“You promised Arthur not to hurt me.” Francis said slowly. Alfred’s grin showed off an awful lot of straight, white teeth.

“I promised not to _kill_ ya.”

Francis managed to pull his shoulder out of Alfred's grip, backing as far away from the boy as he could while also edging towards the door. "Look, Alfred, I'm not who you think I am. I'm not this Phillipe person."

The teen's hands went into his pockets, a lackadaisical move that on anyone else would make them seem more relaxed, rather than more intimidating. "Familiar enough with him to be on first term basis, though." he said lightly, taking his time in pursuing Francis as they made their way out of the library and into the front hall. "And I think by now you've caught on to the situation. I'm not an idiot, Francis." The light of the hallway reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes but highlighting his smirk. He stopped, posture neutral and non-threatening but terrifying regardless. "An idiot would get caught on their second or third kill. Me? I've killed a hundred and fifty people, give or take the ones that were accidents. Do something like that, takes blind luck, and some smarts." He gave a short laugh. "And gee, I seem to be the only one with a brain around here sometimes. That's kinda sayin' something."

Francis felt his back hit the wall, but Alfred wasn't coming any further forward. Not that he probably needed to. Anyone in the same room as him was probably in grabbing distance for a kid who could lap an American football pitch in under a minute. His baseball team must have loved to have him at bat.

"So now what. You'll take your anger out on me just because I look like Phillipe?" Francis said, sounding stronger than he felt. 

Alfred said nothing for a long moment. "That depends entirely on your next answer."

Francis swallowed.

Alfred opened his mouth.

And there was a knock on the door.

Both the hallway's occupants froze, looking at the large wooden door. Arthur and Matthew had only just left. The wolves were in Ohio. Alice had flown all the way back to Belgium by now. Roderich and Elizaveta were upstairs and hadn't come past. And nobody should be able to find this house without some considerable magical skill. 

"Hi?" Alfred called, posture not shifting from it's lazy form but some sort of strange tenseness to him all the same. "Who's that? My parents aren't in so I'm not supposed to open the door!" It was a blatant lie, one he told with a completely straight face. Had Francis been removed from the situation and unaware, he would have believed every word. 

"Witnesses for the Lord, sir!" came a voice, female and cheerful. Witnesses in this weather?

"Oh man, happy clappies." Alfred grinned widely. "I love messing with the happy clappies."

"I wouldn't open the door if I were you." Francis mumbled, feeling a sense of foreboding that nearly matched what he felt from Alfred. There was something behind that door that repelled him. These witnesses had very holy items on them, or something like it. He moved as quietly as he could away from the door. The knock came again, softer this time.

"Um, please? It's really cold out here, the three of us are freezing."

"Three?" Francis muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "Merde. _Merde_ , I'm getting out of here."

"Why you off in such a hurry?" Alfred asked, voice surprisingly quiet. Francis didn't think he had a setting below 'obnoxiously loud'. "I thought crosses and shit didn't affect you."

"They don't, not the kind you put up." The feeling of foreboding, of rejection, came in pulsing waves from behind the door. "I don't think those are normal witnesses. Normal witnesses don't have holy items that powerful."

Alfred's eyes widened, not with shock, but with delight. "You mean Hunters? Real actual hunters?"

"It's alright for you to be excited, you're in no danger!" Francis hissed, feeling like Arthur as he did. Alfred walked over to the door, grinning excitedly.

"You go hide like a pussy then, I'm gonna have me some fun."

"If you kill them, it'll bring the whole organisation down on this house." Francis warned, already making his retreat upstairs. "So don't."

"I don't take orders from you." Alfred said, and opened the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Francis bolted with speed he didn’t know he could possess (and there was a pun in there somewhere) up the rest of the stairs and around the corner where the hallway started. He peered around the corner, using the dimness of the house’s old and failing lights to hide and still examine their new “guests”. Alfred was currently blocking the door, however, peering round the side like some kind of nervous teenager left home alone by his parents. The boy was an actor indeed.

“Um, I really shouldn’t let you in...” he mumbled, sounding younger than he actually was. “I mean, I know it’s really snowy out there and all - why are you guys even out in this weather? - but my parents said nobody’s allowed in since the last time I had a party and kind of trashed the place.” he chuckled sheepishly, playing the part to a T.

“Please, just for a little while.” said the soft-spoken female voice again. Alfred looked back, up the stairs at him momentarily, and Francis ducked out of sight again. “We’ll just warm up, and perhaps... use your bathroom?”

“We’re not gonna be a bother or nothing, honest.” chirped a slightly more cheerful voice. Francis noted they didn’t exactly sound English, despite their fluency with the language. “Pretty please, prav?”

Alfred shifted about, and then sighed. “Okay, okay, alright. But if you guys are actually thieves or whatever my dad has a shotgun and a license to shoot it.”

 _’Or rather, you have a chainsaw and are crazy enough to hack two Hunters to bits.’_ Francis thought to himself. If Alfred did in fact attack the Hunters, Francis would have to make a hasty retreat. Coming across a teenage psychopath was one thing. Coming across a teenage psychopath harboring a ghost was another entirely. The entire organisation would rain down fury on the house and the surrounding area. They’d been known to turn entire cities upside down in their extermination of the supernatural.

Discretely as possible, Francis peeked around the corner again to see what they were up against.

Surprisingly, there were not two, but three newcomers. The one that had not spoken and thus had not been noted while out of sight, was a tall, tanned male, with dark curling hair in a haphazard mop on his head. He looked half asleep and went through the motions of taking off his coat like it was the most arduous task in the world. But the removing of the snow-soaked garment revealed densely packed, well shaped muscles, a toned physique not expected of any sort of “witness”. He glanced around, looking bored, and Francis realised with a cold thud of dread that this was more than just any old hunter. Even he had heard of Heracles Karpusi. A man who seemed so peaceful and unaware, when in reality he was a deadly force to be reckoned with, coming from a long family line of Greek Hunters stretching back to ancient times. Many young and inexperienced creatures looking for glory would try their hand at killing this man for boasting rights, and just as many died trying. Francis prayed that he hadn’t already been noticed. If he had, he was dead... Deader. 

The other two, the girls, didn’t help matters in the slightest. Francis prided himself on having an eye for beauty, and who could forget a sight like Lydia Biely, with her long sandy blonde hair falling down her back, and her modest clothing doing nothing to hide the assets that God had gifted her with. She came from nowhere, rising from obscurity in the tiny Slovakian branch to the world expert in exorcisms. And of course, you couldn’t have Lydia without having her partner and best friend right behind her. Ida Dusek, shorter than Lydia by a head and a half but with similar blonde hair and glittering grey eyes, was not to be underestimated. Despite her young age and slight frame, her skills had resulted in the near extermination of all the werewolves in the Czech Republic in just under 5 years.

Francis could safely say that he was well and truly fucked now.

“Okay, you guys go sit in the library or something, the fire’s on in there and you can hang your coats up next to it.” Alfred said, keeping a close eye on them without dropping his act. “Don’t drip on any of the expensive books or anything okay? Mom will kill me.”

 _‘Arthur will certainly do **something** drastic if he finds Hunters in his house when he comes home.’_ Francis thought, and then immediately ducked back behind the wall as Lydia’s gaze moved around the room. She was an exorcist. The best. God only knew if she was so good that she could sense possession on the spot or not; Francis personally hoped that was just urban legend.

“We’re not gonna steal or break anything, prav.” Ida said, rumored verbal tic confirmed. It would be cute if Francis wasn’t so busy trying not to breathe too loudly. “They won’t even know we were here.”

“Well good, because I will be in such deep shit if they did.” Alfred closed the door, the latch clicking with a terrible finality. Now, all there was to see was which of these different types of hunter would become the hunted. “So, what are your names? You first, quiet dude, you’ve not said anything. Kinda rude.”

“... Heracles Karpusi.” the hunter in question said quietly, not timid or nervous, just quiet. Alfred’s face lit up.

“Hercules? Seriously? That is probably one of the coolest names ever! And woah, you’re ripped! Are you like super strong like Herc as well? I bet you could pick me up with one hand, haha, wow.” the teen babbled. Lydia covered her mouth to hide a smile, and Ida was snickering openly. Heracles’ expression had done nothing but shift into a slight frown.

“It’s Hera-”

“So how about the lovely ladies?” Alfred cut over him, sidling up to Lydia and Ida. “What’re your names?”

“I’m Ida, she’s Lydia!” the shorter of the two chirped, grabbing Alfred’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “Pleasure to meet you, prav!”

“I’m Alfred Williams, welcome to my sorta-humble abode!” Alfred laughed in reply, herding the group towards the library. Francis shook his head at the teen’s replacement surname.

“Humble? This place is huuuuuuuge!” Cried Ida, spreading her arms out and spinning. “Did your parents re-decorate this place themselves?”

Alfred shrugged. “Nah, was like this when we got it. Last owners restored it, since it was kinda run-down and shitty. Didn’t even have electricity.” He finally managed to get the lot of them into the library, and thus out of Francis’ sight. Now, if he could just keep them talking until they left...

He tried not to let a frustrated noise escape. Hunters were clever, specially selected and trained to notice any kind of supernatural activity, and this house had to be crawling with signs. He crept back towards his bedroom, quiet as the dead (hah), and closed the door behind him. Oddly, Elizaveta and Roderich were not where he’d left them. Instead, a small note was sitting on the bed, written in bright red ink.

_Have fun with the hunters, see you in hell! ~ ♥ Elizaveta_

Those sly bastards. They probably knew ahead of time. Just went to show you could never trust a demon. Francis went to pick up the note, when it turned to ash at his touch. They’d covered their own tracks as well.

Footsteps in the hall. Francis ducked to the side, hiding in a wardrobe. But the door didn’t open, and the steps instead continued down the hall. “Alfred, which door is the bathroom again?” called Ida’s voice, startlingly clear and close. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Second door on the left!” hollered Alfred. Second door on the... that was Francis’ room.

That little- he was trying to get him killed! Not that that was much of a surprise, really. If the hunters killed him, then he could just say to Arthur that it wasn’t his fault, honest, they just showed up out of nowhere. They wouldn’t attack Alfred, the Hunter’s double standards were such that even if the individual was an insane psychopath with over 100 murders to his name, they’d spare him because he was human. Pathetic. It wasn’t often that Francis thought so vehemently of people, but Hunters were Hunters. They didn’t count as people.

People or not, they would still readily kill him, so when the door to the bedroom opened, Francis held his breath, listening carefully. “What the, this is just a bedroom...” she muttered, but lingered in the doorway. “... why is there ash on the bed...” 

‘ _Please just leave!_ ’ Francis pleaded in his head. ‘ _If there is a merciful being known as God, make her leave!_ ’ The silence was terrible, stretching onward into eternity. The longest minute of his un-life seemed to disobey the laws of time and space, staying forever in the paralysing fear of discovery.

“Alfred! Your directions suck, prav!”

“Ida! Don’t be rude!”

“Hahahaha, sorry, my bad, I meant on the right. I get those mixed up!”

The door closed, and Ida’s footsteps disappeared across the hallway and into the actual bathroom. Francis’ legs might as well have been made out of jelly for all the good they were doing holding him up now that the danger had, momentarily, left. The Hunters had only been here twenty minutes, and already it felt like they were going to drive him into an early grave (again) via heart attack. Which was probably Alfred’s intention. Or maybe not, since the boy seemed to take such satisfaction out of doing the killing himself. Perhaps he just intended to torture Francis first.

God only knew what they were talking about down there. Hopefully Alfred wasn’t babbling inanely about the vampires, werewolves and occasional possessed people he’d come across in the past few months. If he even mentioned a little about Francis, Lydia would most likely strip the house bare in search of him. And while there would be some wonderful dramatic irony in a person like him being exorcised by a beautiful woman, Francis had heard that exorcism was actually incredibly painful. And he, unlike Arthur, was not a martyr or a masochist.

The toilet across the hall flushed and the sound of the tap started, old pipes of the house creaking slightly, as they always did. Francis was thankful for it; at least he could figure out Ida’s location and avoid her like the plague.

The bathroom door creaked as it swung open, and the noise of Ida’s boots carried down the hall, until they disappeared entirely from Francis’ hearing. Carefully, he slipped out of the wardrobe. That was much too close for comfort. He had to find somewhere else to hide, lest Ida tell Lydia of the strange ash she found in the room.

Midnight was approaching, and if they didn’t get the hunters to leave by then, they’d probably fall asleep, and then when Arthur returned...

There was, of course, a possibility that they’d just come here by accident, but Francis immediately dismissed that as ridiculous. The Hunters had attacked this house before, and no doubt had come to check up on it since there had been so much activity in the area.

He slipped out of the bedroom and darted into an unused room across the hall. He’d not really gone in here before, despite staying in Arthur’s house for so long. The vampire was quite techy about people snooping around his house. The room was spotlessly clean, seeming practically untouched. Unlike the room with all the boxes, it was largely empty, apart from two small beds. Squinting through the pale moonlight and slight breeze from an open window, Francis could also make out several toys, neatly arranged on the beds as though waiting for their owners to return.

A strange, croaking noise came from atop one of the dressers in the corner of the room. Turning slowly, Francis came face to face with a bird. Beady black eyes sized up the intruder, and for some reason Francis felt like he was being judged.

“So you think they’d let me?”

Francis’s heart stopped and then restarted again as Alfred’s voice came out of nowhere.

“I think so, you seem like you could get away with murder anyway, prav.”

The voices came from beneath his feet. Ah, this room was directly above the library. He made very sure that his steps didn’t make the floorboards creek as he shut the door. The bird was still watching him. What was it doing in here anyway?

Alfred was laughing. “My parents let me get away with a lot of stuff. I guess it’s them trying to make up for moving us here from America.”

“I didn’t think you sounded like you were from around here...” came Lydia’s soft voice. Francis shivered. Ida and Heracles weren’t as much a threat to him as Lydia was. This was much too close for comfort; she was probably just under three meters away from him, and he could feel the pull her spiritual powers induced in many ghosts just like him. Like an angler fish luring in prey...

That was it, he had to get out. Leave the house for a while. But the only way out was down the stairs, and to go down the stairs would mean arriving in the front hall, and being but a door away from the library, and thus the hunters.

The bird suddenly let out a piercing cry, more like a scream than any bird call Francis had ever heard. It took to the air, dive-bombing Francis before the blonde could try and shut it up, and then went to the open window. Please God, let them not have heard that.

“What was that?”

Of course, God was on _their_ side.

The bird was still by the window, and it screeched again at him. Francis dove for it, trying to at least smack it out of the window, when it dodged him and flew off, leaving him hanging over the edge of the windowsill. There was ivy all around him, and large bushes at the bottom covered in powdery snow. He reached a hand out and tested the ivy’s strength. The plant had to be at least 50 years old, and stayed firmly in place. It was no longer snowing, but the night air was chilly.

Grabbing a blanket off the bed for warmth, Francis carefully climbed out of the window, and scaled down the ivy as quietly as possible. His landing in the bushes was soft, but every rustle of leaves was terrifying. He’d avoided the windows, but could still hear the voices inside the library if he strained his ears.

“Your father keeps a petrel?” asked Lydia in wonderment.

“Bermudan one. Screams like the damned, but he loves it.” Alfred explained with a carefree attitude. “They’re endangered but I think he has a thing for rare stuff.”

“Lydia, come with me to go see it!” Ida said frantically, and Francis could picture her jumping up and down excitedly. Francis kept his head down as their voices travelled upstairs, hiding under the bushes. “Aww man, it’s not here, prav...”

“Maybe it flew off out the window...” Lydia said, voice trailing off. Every word she said made Francis want to stand up and yell “here I am!” Foul trick to use. Trust the hunters to be so sneaky as to recruit spirit magnets. “So, what was it you really wanted to say?”

Ida huffed. “You know me too well, prav.” Her voice dropped, so quiet Francis had to strain to hear even though they were standing by the window. “That kid’s a liar. He’s a really, really good liar, but you know how I feel about liars, prav.”

“Yes, I know.” Lydia replied, voice just as low. “But lying is important in our profession, not to mention the sheer _volume_ of lingering voices here indicates that he’s definitely the one we’ve been looking for.”

“Mm, I know the Cardinal has been interested in him since he first heard the news, but I still don’t like it, prav.” Ida did indeed sound upset and annoyed. “We’d have to get to him before the police do. Once he’s in the system it’ll be impossible to get him out without breaking a few necks, prav.”

“Let’s not do that.” Lydia agreed. “Come on, let’s go back down.”

Merde. They were going to recruit him. They were going to recruit him and he was probably going to die. Right. Okay. Running away wasn’t going to help in this instance. For once, he was going to try and do something selfless.

He turned back towards the ivy, and started climbing again. It was much more difficult this time, fighting gravity every inch of the way as his body quicky began to freeze up from the cold. By the time he got to the window, his joints were stiff and he felt like an old man. He shut the window, and walked as quietly as possible out of the room and down the hall. Arthur had a phone in here somewhere, he had to... there! At the end of the hall! It was exposed and anyone could see him, but the phone was attached to a chord, so he was stuck. Take it or leave it...

Picking up the phone, he dialed 999. Every ring made him more and more nervous, until finally an operator picked up.

“Emergency services.”

“Hello? I need the police, immediately.” he whispered.

“What’s the problem, sir?”

Francis took a deep breath. “My name is Phillipe Fournier. I’m trapped in a house with Alfred F. Jones. He’s trying to kill me.”

“You mean the serial killer from the United States?”

“Why would I namedrop him otherwise?” he snapped.

“Just a moment sir, our system is having trouble tracing your call...”

“It’s an old, large house not far out of Bristol, surrounded by forests. Please, you have to come quickly, he’s only distracted for a moment!”

“Mister Fournier, please stay calm. Is there anywhere you can hide?”

“I’m hiding right now! Look, I’ll just give you directions, and for god’s sake, make sure the police are armed. You have no idea what this boy can do...”

“I’ll be sure they have note of that sir.”

Francis gave the directions and hung up the phone before the operator could request he stay on the line. Now he had to make sure the hunters left-

A tinny melody made him nearly jump out of his skin with fright. He ducked into a bedroom and peered out of the door. Coming along the hall was Heracles, wandering aimlessly still with that half-asleep look on his face. He stopped, blinking twice before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a mobile phone. It continued with it’s cheerful jingle, which sounded oddly like a cat-food commercial he’d heard once, until the Hunter opened it up and held it to his ear.

“Yes?” he asked, sounding a little annoyed, perhaps that his phone had gone off when he was sneaking around. Francis, on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier. He never would have noticed the Hunter coming otherwise. “I see. We’ll move out then.” Another pause. “Lydia did? Hm. I don’t like him though.” A small frown appeared on his usually passive face. “I guess. See you in a few hours then.” The phone snapped closed, and after a lingering look down to the end of the hall, Heracles turned and walked back where he’d come from. Francis breathed a sigh of relief (quietly). They were leaving, thank god, they were leaving.

And now, he definitely had to leave too, preferably before he got stuck in police custody.

\---

“Aw, you have to go so soon?” Alfred seemed disappointed. “But we could have talked for ages!”

“Sadly, we’ve been called back by our church, and it is getting very late.” Lydia smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. “Thank you very much for having us, though. Your hospitality is a blessing.”

“Shucks, it weren’t nothin’ really.” the blonde teen laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking flattered. “Come round again sometime, it’ll be nice.”

“We travel a lot, but sure!” Ida cheered, grinning at the much taller teen. “And then I’ll kick your ass at Halo.”

“Uhuh, right, sure, you’re gonna need to practice first!” Alfred laughed as the chill of winter crept through the now open front door. “Hasta la bye bye then!”

With the hunters gone and the door shut, Alfred stretched his hands above his head and let out a satisfied sound. “You can come out now, ‘fraidy cat.”

Francis emerged from the top of the stairs. “You weren’t exactly trying to keep them from finding me.”

Alfred grinned. “Well gee, I wonder why.” He took a couple of paces towards Francis, hands still behind his head. Francis stood his ground. “Now where were we...”

“I think you were right in the middle of threatening me with physical harm.”

Thin eyebrows rose. “You’re not scared.”

“You’re not scary.” Francis folded his arms. “I just had three close encounters with people who could disintegrate my soul into nothingness. Comparatively, you’re just a little boy with a strange knack for making people’s insides, outside.”

Alfred stared at him for a long moment. Then he folded his arms, frowned, and huffed in a way that made a few locks of hair fluff upwards for a second. “Well that’s annoying. It’s no fun if you’re doing that “face death with dignity” thing...”

“Technically, I’m already dead.” Francis shrugged, starting to find it hard to keep up the feeling of complacancy. Alfred briefly blanched at the mention of ghosts, but then a calculating glint entered his eye. Uh oh.

“So how did you die the first time?” the teen loomed over him, grinning.

“That’s incredibly personal information to ask the undead. It’s ghost etiquette not to.” Francis replied, folding his arms as Alfred did. “Besides which, I don’t know.”

Alfred’s face betrayed his surprise. “You don’t know?”

“Non, I don’t. It’s a blank. I can’t remember.”

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” Alfred pressed, uncomfortably close. Suddenly all the bravado went out of Francis, and he took a step back. “I’m curious now, about how you died. Maybe it was so horrible you don’t want to remember it? Ah, I want to know now. Can we make you remember?” Francis wanted to take another step back, but suddenly Alfred’s hands were on his throat, squeezing. Choking. “If you die again, will you remember? Maybe it’ll all come back to you...”

“Alfred--!” Francis gasped, weakly trying to pull the teen’s hands off him. A futile effort, even when he tried kicking his legs out.

“Oh, and while we’re here, I just wanna ask you.” His grip tightened. “Did you know this body belonged to Phillipe Fournier when you possessed it, or was that just an accident.” He grinned, voice dropping to a rumbling growl. “Because either way, you stole my kill, jackass.”

Francis couldn’t exactly breathe to answer, little lights bursting in front of his eyes. But even with the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear the sirens, and the sounds of helicopter blades cutting air.

“We have you surrounded! Alfred F. Jones, come out unarmed and with your hands up!”

Alfred paused, looked at Francis, and the smile disappeared from his face.

“You traitorous bastard.”

There was a snapping sound, and Francis breathed no more.


	13. Chapter 13

He rolled over and pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the daylight for a few seconds longer.

“Francis! Wake up!”

He groaned wordlessly, annoyed at being woken up when it was clearly too early. It was summer; just because the sun was up didn’t mean he had to be as well. He’d been baking late into the night so he didn’t have to serve customers in the morning. Suddenly, the covers disappeared, snatched from his grasp and leaving him exposed to the comparatively cold morning air, not to mention the scrutiny of his wife, who was holding the blanket out of his reach.

“Jeanne, my darling, I love you, but this had better be good.” Francis grumbled, sitting up. His neck ached. He’d slept on it funny. A sudden idea occurred and he grinned. “Unless this is because you couldn’t contain yourself after seeing my handsome sleeping face-” she thew the blanket at him.

“Get up and dressed! There are three men downstairs who insist on seeing you.” she didn’t seem too happy with their sudden arrival either. For the wife of a baker, Jeanne was extremely strong willed, almost to the point of insolence. And Francis loved her that way. “They’re scaring away the customers with their big black wagon outside...” Now her demeanor shifted to uncomfortable. “You’ve not... done or said anything, have you Francis?”

The baker swung his legs out of bed and stood up, walking to his wife and drawing her into a hug. “No, I haven’t, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure they leave without trouble.”

Jeanne sighed, returning the hug briefly, before going to fix the mess that the bed had turned into. “You go, I’ll catch up.”

Francis did pulling on his shirt and daywear while wondering who on earth would come and see him. The rest of his family were all dead and gone, and he had no siblings, so that ruled out people delivering inheritance. He’d not done anything the night before, and the last time he’d actually got drunk was the weekend before, which had ended quite happily in bed with his wife, rather than in any trouble. He’d had no quarrels with anyone in the village, and nobody had stolen from his shop (apart from that one little urchin, but that had been sorted out quickly by Jeanne and her broom). So it wasn’t the local warden. He’d declined to join the army, since his work in the village was important and he didn’t have any particular interest in fighting the English anyway. That sort of thing would sort itself out with or without him.

Really, unless they were buying bread or he owed them money from a bet, nobody ever came to his house without warning. His friends were all similarly busy with life and would have to schedule visits between trips to the bigger cities to sell their wares. And from Jeanne’s reaction, these people were no friends of his.

He entered his small, and suddenly more cramped feeling kitchen with a neutral expression on his face. There were indeed three men in the room. One of them was playing disinterestedly with a sack of grain, watching the kernels run through his fingers like sand. Another was sitting at the table, elbows resting on the wood Francis had cut down himself and fingers interlaced. The last stood by the door to the front of the shop, the only other exit, with arms folded. While the first two were quite lean looking, the last was tall, stockily built and purposefully intimidating. All three were wearing dark cloaks, the hoods still up even inside. Francis swallowed.

“Good morning.” he greeted uncertainly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from three gentlemen I don’t know?”

From under the cowl of the hood, the man at the table smiled. “Good morning.” He replied, and his accent made it obvious that he wasn’t from around here. He probably wasn’t even from this country, and his darker skin only confirmed that. He immediately put his guard up. “Please, have a seat, it’s your house after all.”

Carefully, Francis sat down in the only other chair available. It was where his wife usually sat, but the stranger had taken up his usual chair. “... might I ask who you are?”

“None of y’r bus’ness..” Grunted the large man by the door, his accent also strong but vastly different from the first man’s. The man at the table put his hand up to signal the large man to quiet down.

“Now now, no need for that.” the smile stayed affixed to his face. “My name is Gabriel. My colleagues, Berwald,” he indicated the large man, who grumbled at being named. “and Tino,” the pointed out the man playing with the grain. He looked up, but clearly didn’t understand the conversation aside from his name being mentioned. He waved, a shy smile visible under the hood. “have come to offer you a special deal.”

Francis slowly raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry Monsieur Gabriel, but I don’t make deals with strange figures who won’t show their faces.” he smiled politely, but felt the atmosphere tense. Slowly, Gabriel reached up and pushed his hood back. A young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, sat before Francis, olive green eyes watching him carefully in the dim light, long, dark hair tied back behind his neck, though several shorter locks escaped to frame his face. He was definitely from the south, from Hispania or Portugal, if his complexion didn’t lie.

He could be summarised as moderately handsome, enough to be from nobility. If Francis weren’t married and surrounded by nosey neighbours... now wasn’t the time for that.

“Is this better, Monsieur Bonnefoy?” he asked, still putting on a friendly face which seemed increasingly forced the more Francis looked at him. A real smile would probably look better.

“Much, thank you.” he replied, resting his own elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “Now, what is this deal?”

“Nothing much, we simply require your assistance with some information.” Despite being foreign, he was quite fluent in Francis’ dialect of French. “You know most of the people in the area, correct?”

“Well, yes.” Francis admitted. “Anyone who buys bread, I know. Certainly I know all the people in this village, by sight if not by name.”

Gabriel seemed delighted by this. “Excellent. We’re searching for a fugitive from the church. They could have hidden anywhere, and they’ve evaded us for so long we’re beginning to wonder if they’ve settled down somewhere remote, such as your village.”

“... and you think I would harbor such a person?” Francis asked, frowning. Gabriel quickly shook his head, raising his hands.

“No, not at all. But as you know the locals very well, would you be able to tell us if anyone moved here recently?”

“No.” There was no hesitation. Nobody had moved here in decades. The village’s population had been decreasing, in fact, as children married out and moved to cities and neighbouring towns. “Not since I was born.”

Gabriel hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his chin.

“I see.” he sounded disappointed. Movement out of the corner of Francis’ eye caught his attention. A calico cat lept up into Gabriel’s lap, butting it’s head under his hand in a demand for affection. “Oh, Antonio.” Gabriel said, not sounding at all surprised. The cat had to be his, then. He plucked a note from the collar around it’s neck, a small gold crucifix danging off it. Opening it, his eyes scanned the page. He could read. “Hm. Is that so? Then this will be pointless. That’s a shame.” The cat meowed, jumping up onto the man’s shoulder. In a sudden movement, Gabriel stood from the table. “Well, thank you for your time, Monsieur Bonnefoy. We’ll continue our investigation elsewhere.”

Francis followed them to the door like a good host, and then watched them travel down the road until they went out of sight. His gossipy neighbours stared after them also, and Francis ducked back inside before they could start asking him questions, putting up the “closed” sign to ward off anyone else for the day. He needed to check on Jeanne.

“Jeanne? They’re gone, I made them leave, it’s alright.” He called up the stairs. “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I wasn’t scared!” came the immediate protest, then his wife slowly made her way downstairs, looking around warily. “... alright, maybe I was a little. What did they want? They wouldn’t tell me.”

Francis relayed the information quickly to her, watching her concerned frown set deeper and deeper.

“There hasn’t been anyone new in town for years...” she muttered.

“That’s what I told them. Either way, we don’t need to worry about it. They’re gone, and that’s the end of it as far as I’m concerned.” He held her close. “Today has got off to a bad start. What do you say we make it better, hm?” His hands searched lower.

Jeanne smiled in a manner that would have made the devil blush. “Vile man, do you think of nothing else?”

Francis grinned in response. “When I’m looking at such a beautiful woman, how can I?”

\---

The afternoon passed in a sloth-like atmosphere, Francis lying back on his bed and gazing up at the cieling in thought as Jeanne snoozed at his side. The local priest would likely scold him for indulging in a deadly sin on a weekday, but Francis was too busy twirling a lock of his wife’s short blonde hair around his finger. Despite what he had said about the strange visitors, he couldn’t just forget about them so easily.

Firstly, they weren’t like the usual travellers that would pass through here. They were clean, which either meant that they’d set off recently from a local place (unlikely, judging from their accents), or they had attendants that would care for them. Francis wasn’t a stupid man. He had no education, couldn’t read or write, and his profession as a baker afforded him little real status. However, he was observant, and picked things up quickly. Others might say he was nosey. He preferred “inquisitive”.

What kind of person was a fugitive from the church?

Well, obviously a blasphemer of the highest order. Or a heretic, or heathen. A great number of things could set the church against you. Some days he irritably wondered if the church would start issuing guides on how to _breathe_ right, lest they be sent to hell for that. But to set the church so against you that they started sending out strange, rag tag groups of cloaked figures to find you... one would have to pull off something big. Attempt to murder the pope, perhaps? Ah, but news of that surely would have spread here by now, and the people in cloaks had implied that they’d been searching for this person for a _long_ time.

How long could one man hide from something like the church? Unless they fled the Christian world entirely, it would be impossible.

But those men, those _hunters_ were looking here, so they must have had some kind of clue.

The sun was sinking below the horizon outside the window. Francis untangled himself from the bedsheets and his wife, and went to close the window before the cold night air could chill the house too much. In the dimming light of the sunset, he thought he saw one of the dark cloaked figures running at full pelt down the street, but the next second, they were gone. Nobody out there but a cat slinking it’s way out of an ally.

Huh. He didn’t think anyone in town had a cat. If it was from the next village, it was an awfully long way from home. Not that he was particularly concerned about the wellbeing of an animal, but the way it was darting about the street made it look nervous and flighty.

What’s more, if he squinted, he could make out its colours. A calico cat. Like the one from earlier.

His thoughts went no further than that, because as soon as he turned away from the window, the world turned upside down.

\---

Francis came to and immediately smelled smoke. His head felt fogged with it, and he coughed and choked until his eyes watered. The ovens must have caught fire, or something like that. Damn it, they needed to get out.

“Jeanne?” He wheezed, trying to see through the clouds of black smoke. It was night outside still, but the light from the fire downstairs gave an orange outline to everything. Wait. Downstairs. Shit, he couldn’t get down the stairs, they were on fire. He scrambled to the window, pushing it open and hanging over the ledge as he gasped in the clean night air. “Jeanne!” He finally had the air to call properly. He couldn’t hear any answer, and so he took a deep breath in, and ducked back inside the house, feeling around blindly for the bed. It was empty. She must have got out. He got back to the window for more air, and only now opened his eyes fully to study how far away the ground outside was. He would have to jump, or risk burning.

He was certain it was night time, and yet the ground was bathed in an orange-yellow glow that couldn’t be coming from his house alone. Slowly he turned his gaze outward.

The whole village was aflame.

Every house was a raging fireball, like something from a depiction of hell on a church wall. There were no people on the streets, but he could hear screaming, muffled, from the other buildings. Horror made his stomach turn, and he wanted to be ill. But he had to get out of the house. Even with his legs feeling weak, he swung them out of the window, and then carefully turned. He lowered himself as far as he could go, prayed, and dropped to the ground.

He landed, and one of his ankles gave out painfully beneath him, and he lost his balance, smacking his head painfully against the cobblestones. Swearing, he dragged himself away from the house on his elbows, head spinning. He had to get away. He had to find Jeanne. If he could stare into the face of beauty even one more time, he’d be happy.

His sight was dimming. He didn’t have much time. “Jeanne...”

“Francis!”

Ah, he’d died, he could hear the voices of angels.

“Francis! Francis, don’t die!” Jeanne sounded like she was going to cry. “This is all my fault! Oh Francis, I’m so sorry. Please open your eyes!”

Blue eyes forced themselves open, though focusing was a touch more difficult. Jeanne was indeed crying, her face covered with soot and tears leaving clear tracks through the black. But even now, she was beautiful. She was cradling him close to her, and he could feel her clothes were singed at least. But she seemed unharmed otherwise. Thank goodness.

“Say something.” she pleaded. “Say anything!”

“... don’t cry, angel.” he breathed, voice sounding raspier than he intended it to. It probably didn’t assuage her fears at all. “This can’t be... your fault.”

“But it is! Francis, I’ve been lying all these years, but it had been so long since I’d found a place to be-” she sniffed, voice hitching. “- a place to be _happy_. You made me so happy, Francis.” She rested her forehead on his. She felt warm, feverishly so. Or was it that Francis felt cold? “But... Francis, I’m not an angel at all. I’m a witch.”

“... what?” he blinked at her, eyes refusing to focus but ears working well enough. “A... witch?”

She shuddered. “Yes. I’m much older than I look. I’ve been hiding here for years, with you. I should have moved on ages ago. But I couldn’t. I fell in love with a baker who flirted with every pretty girl that walked in his shop, even if they never replied to him.”

“Oh? Who is this man, I might have to chase him away from you.” Francis joked weakly, not sure if he believed his ears. Jeanne, a witch? The devil’s dance partner?

“This isn’t funny! The village is on fire because they were trying to smoke me out instead!” she was yelling right next to his ear, and it was probably a good thing, because everything was starting to sound distant. “Everyone is dying because of me!”

“Yes, because of you, witch.” said a new voice, and Jeanne’s head snapped up. Francis tried fight away the cold that was muffling everything, from sight to sound. “I’ve never liked witches. Especially not the kind that insist on taking others down with them.”

“I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you damned Hunters setting everything ablaze!” she screeched at them, for Francis could hear three pairs of boots on the cobblestones.

“Damned?” a dry chuckle in cold tones. “Perhaps so, but no more than you.” There was a click of metal. “Some associates from the Orient have sent me this. It’s called a crossbow. What better to test it on than a witch? The arrow is silver, if you hadn’t guessed. Just in case.”

Jeanne started spitting out syllables that Francis had never heard before, not in French or any other language. They sent shivers down his spine, even more than the encroaching numbness in his limbs did. Whatever she’d been saying was cut off short, however. A gurgling sound replaced it, and something warm and hot splashed on Francis’ face. Iron, the smell of blood.

“... Jeanne?” he whispered, knowing he would get no answer. He didn’t have the energy to cry. Death was coming for him anyway. His Jeanne, his beautiful angel. He’d see her soon.

“Worry not, Monsieur Bonnefoy.” said the voice, the hunter, the _murderer_ of his wife. “She’ll never plague you again. Spirits of witches are denied heaven and hell. For their service to the devil, Saint Peter will not let them pass. For their failure to tempt others, they are rejected from Hell as well. Hopefully she has not corrupted you to the point where you too, are forever in purgatory.” Another click of metal. “I’ll make this quick for you, so you don’t have to wait and find out.”

\---

_Jeanne._

He had to find her.

_Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne._

She had to be somewhere.

_Jeanne Jeanne Jeanne Jeanne Jeanne_

If he never found her again, it might as well be hell.

_jeannejeannejeannejeannejeannejeannejeannejeannejeannejeannejeanne_

He opened his mouth to scream, but with no air it made no sound. He wanted to tear his hair out in grief, but he had no solid form with which to do so. He wanted to die, but he was forever trapped between the state of sleep and waking, repeating a nightmare where the exit was just out of reach.

_Please let it end! Make it just go away! God, I beg of you! Mercy!_

_Have mercy!_

\---

Francis didn't remember dying.

\---

If he had lungs, he would probably be gasping at the whirl of memories flooding his mind. He would say head, but he didn’t have one of those either right now. Not having a form was one of his least favourite things about being a ghost - _Jeanne_ \- because then he actually had to concentrate on his appearance to look human. Consciously remembering what one looked like the whole time was quite a difficult - _Jeanne_ \- thing to do. Very few people appreciated how lucky they were to have their body - _Jeanne_ \- evidenced by most of them doing reckless _Jeanne_ things with it.

His thoughts rambled on as they usually did, but now there was the ever present echo of what had kept him trapped on earth for so long, what he’d been so tormented by that he’d made himself forget.

Jeanne.

He was looking right at his killer, but his killer clearly couldn’t see him. Alfred was the second person to murder him (he’d rather not add a third), and for all the boy’s terror of ghosts, it seemed he didn’t have so much as an inkling of the Sight required to see them.

In the minutes (hours? It felt like a lifetime) that Francis had been dazed by the recovery of his memory, the boy had proceeded to beat the ever loving crap out of Phillipe’s body. Because it wasn’t Francis’ body. Francis’ body was out in a field in the middle of France, long rotted away.

He tried not to think about that.

“Hey, Francis?” Alfred said suddenly. “Dunno if you’re still there... don’t really wanna _think_ about if you’re still there, but anyway. I just wanna say no hard feelings, alright? We’re even. You steal my kill, I kill you instead.”

“No hard feelings? You just broke my neck! … Phillipe’s neck!” Francis grumbled. Alfred couldn’t hear him, so he just sulked to himself. “The second Arthur gets home, I am going to tell him everything, and then you’ll be sorry.” It dawned on him that he sounded like a mother hen and he groaned frustratedly. “If I had hands I would strangle you.”

_If he had hands he would tear his hair out-_

Not. Thinking. About that.

Actually, if he tried to think about hating Alfred for what he’d done, now it only brought up the hate and pain from a lifetime ago. As much as he wanted to feel righteously angry with the teenager, he couldn’t. He certainly wasn’t any worse than the people who killed him in the first place. Alfred was legitimately insane. The Hunters - he wanted to spit at the word - were cold-blooded murderers who had destroyed the lives of an entire village. So for now he would have to put aside his feelings, put them into a little box in the corner of his mind, and observe. He was always a curious man (and it was often the death of him) and he wanted to see how this ended.

There was quite a commotion outside, the sound of a helicopter and several squad cars breaking the quiet of the night. The blue lights of the police cars flashed through the window, throwing shadows against the wall and making them move like they were alive themselves. For all Francis knew, the hunters - and that word stung more than ever now - were out there too. Looking out the window, he couldn’t see them, but as a ghost he knew more than anyone that just because you couldn’t see them, didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Alfred let out a low whistle. “Wow, every other cop car in the county must have turned up. All this for little old me?”

“Well no-one short of a war criminal has ever had a kill count as high as you.” Francis replied, mostly to himself.

The teenage murderer walked casually to a nearby flower pot, and pulled his chainsaw out from behind there. Sometimes Francis wondered if he just kept multiple iterations of the object hidden all over the house. Instead of walking to the front door, however, he started back along the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Francis asked, realising it was futile and mostly quite stupid. He might as well have been talking to the flower pot.

“Goin’ to the roof.” Alfred grinned.

The reply stunned him for a while. “You can hear-”

“I can’t hear you, you’re just really predictable.” And he sounded so smug at that. “And if I’m just talking to myself, there’s no-one around, and who would judge the crazy serial killer anyway?”

He had a point. He hated it when Alfred had a point. It rarely lead to anything good.

“Are you going to jump?” he asked casually, wondering how far Alfred could carry this half-audible conversation.

“Suicide? Nah man, not my thing. The police don’t know that, though.”

“What makes you think they won’t just shoot you?”

Alfred stared up at the hatch in the ceiling that opened up to the attic. “Suicide by cop is kind of a lot more difficult in England. They won’t shoot me that quick. Not before I have time to surprise them.” He poked the latch and stepped out of the way as the trapdoor opened and a ladder dropped down. He climbed up it with one hand, the other holding his chainsaw. Francis followed him through the musty attic, filled with even more things than the box room downstairs. A lot more cobwebs as well, which Alfred had to swat out of the way to get to a small window. The lock on it had rusted long ago, but Alfred swung a fist back and smacked it open. His strength would never stop surprising Francis. He’d never imagined the human body could wreak so much havoc.

Alfred had to pull himself onto the roof, while Francis floated through the tiles easily. Once up there, the blonde murderer stood and surveyed the gathered police as a lion would assess the weakest prey before pouncing. He moved as close to the edge as he could.

“I thought you weren’t going to jump.” Francis said, peering over the edge. The snow was deep but it wouldn’t help Alfred in any way. If he impacted from this height, it would break his ankles at the least.

Alfred smirked. “Falling with style.”

His words attracted the attention of the police, and many sent up a surprised shout as they noticed him edging closer to the end of the roof. “Ladies and gentlemen, behold!” Alfred cried theatrically, spreading his arms out. “The man you’ve all been waiting for, Alfred F. Jones, the Texas Chainsaw Murderer!” Francis wanted to facepalm. An idiot was always an idiot. “I’ve eluded capture for two hundred and thirty five days, and for my next trick, I shall jump off this roof!” He listened to the reactions of the crowd, grinning. “Don’t blink!”

And then he fell, leaning forwards until he wasn’t there any more. He flipped once in the air, and Francis couldn’t believe his eyes. Alfred rolled, making snow fly everywhere, and it was impossible to tell what had happened immediately. Surely not. Surely he couldn’t have survived...

The buzz of a chainsaw ripped through the night.

Of course he could.

The first policeman he got to was much too startled by the whole scene to respond in time. Alfred’s chainsaw gutted him straight across the stomach in a bloody spray that turned the snow around him red. Whooping laughter echoed off the walls of the house as Alfred jumped over cars and ducked behind trucks to avoid hails of bullets. The police helicopter overhead lit the arena, Alfred leaving a crimson path wherever he went as he got soaked in the stuff himself. Like unleashing a lion into the gladiator pit, there was no mercy, only animalistic carnage.

France kept count of the dead mentally. Granted, some of the ones Alfred had only chopped an arm off of were probably going to make it, but out here in the snow, if one had one’s entrails falling out of their body, they weren’t going to survive. He wondered briefly how he could stay so detached when he had felt the cold grip of death itself not once, but twice in his life. He decided it was because he didn’t see any ghosts forming. These people had moved on swiftly. He couldn’t stand to feel pity for those he was envious of.

Suddenly, Alfred stopped. Francis couldn’t figure out why for a second, until he looked at the boy’s movements more carefully. He pulled something out of his neck, looking at it. A dart. A tranquiliser.

Three more hit him, two on the arm and another on the neck. He dodged the rest, but his movements were quickly becoming sluggish. He collapsed against the side of a police car, spreading blood that wasn’t his own down the side.

“Haha... that was fun...” Francis heard him mutter, before falling forward into the snow. They’d shoot him now. Any second someone would avenge their fallen comrades.

But no. Nobody moved. Everyone kept their eyes and guns trained on the serial murderer, who had just killed another 5 people right in front of them and injured 30 more. Nobody fired. What Alfred had said about English police couldn’t ring _that_ true, could it?

“Fuck.” he heard someone swear in the tense silence. “Fuck Jim, I wanna shoot him.”

“He’s down. And we’re not allowed to.” another answered.

“But-!”

“Thank you.” said someone new. Francis couldn’t for the life of him figure out what a man in a doctor’s coat was doing out here in the middle of a battle between the police and a murderer. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “We’ll take him now. The check for the losses to your police force will be double. I’m sorry for the trouble.” His accent sounded distinctly Eastern-European.

Two more people stepped forward hefting the unconscious teen upwards and seeming completely unmindful of the blood he was soaked in. They took him to a large van, similarly decorated to look like an ambulance, but emblazoned with “St Mary’s House for the Mentally Damaged.” Francis had never heard of them. He was sorely tempted to follow as the van drove off into the night, but he knew someone would have to explain to Arthur, lest the vampire overturn the whole of England looking for Alfred.

And so, that was the last Francis Bonnefoy saw of Alfred F. Jones.

\---

The moon was just peeking out between clouds as the water lapped at the docks of Southsea port. Arthur was sitting atop his suitcase, looking thoroughly miserable. His travelling clothes were enough to make him look like a normal person at first glance, until one noticed the sunglasses he was wearing to deflect the glow of his eyes. Matthew, specially designed glasses doing the same job as sunglasses, placed a comforting hand on his Sire’s shoulder.

“Stupid idiot... now I have police crawling all over my house... they’re going to mess up everything. Who even broke my barrier spell...” the older vampire muttered irritably. “Bloody fucking _Hunters_ , I swear, one day...” he let the empty threat hang in the air. After all, what could one vampire do?

“Sure you don’t want to come with us, Francis?” Matthew asked, not quite looking in the right place where the ghost actually was.

“As delightful as the company would be, I think I’ll pass.” Francis chuckled. “Now I know what I’m looking for, I think I’d like to start at the beginning, retrace my steps.”

“He says no.” Arthur passed on, the most prickly he’d ever been. “It’s just you and me going back to your coven. Maybe I can see how you’ve been doing raising them.”

“A-ahaha, don’t compare yourself to me, Arthur, I’m not nearly as impressive. I only have seven.” Matthew chuckled nervously. “Compared to thirty, it’s kind of pathetic.”

Arthur stood, sighing. “Maybe quality is better than quantity, Matthew.” Green eyes locked on to Francis and stayed there. He opened his mouth, and closed it, repeating several times before he finally stuck his hand out. “... good luck I suppose.”

Francis blinked at the gesture, and then smiled. He concentrated on shaping himself a hand, and shook the vampire’s cold grip. “Merci, mon ami. Maybe you can come find me one day, if you get tired of raising kids again.”

Arthur snorted, withdrawing his hand. “Last thing I’d do is try and find _you_ , idiot.” he muttered, hefting his bag up. He’d managed to fit everything in there through liberal application of spells, Francis imagined. “Come on Matthew, before the boat leaves.”

“Right, right.” Matthew chuckled, flashing a smile in Francis’ general direction. “It’s been nice meeting you, Monsieur Bonnefoy.”

“Francis, please. Call me Francis.”

“He says to call him Francis, now come _on_ boy.” Arthur insisted, balancing easily on one of the massive chains that lead up to the boat. It was a funny sight to see, when a vampire just stuck to things like walls as they did. He and Matthew both stowed away aboard the cargo ship bound for Canada, like refugees from a natural disaster, which he supposed Arthur, at least, was.

As far as Alfred could be called “natural” at least.

The boat disappeared across the horizon, and Francis turned his attention south. At least without a body, he could get through customs a lot easier.

\---

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\---

He leaned his head back against the wall of the van. These restraints hurt a little bit, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Briefly he wondered if he’d killed anyone the man who’d put him in this stupid straight jacked had known. That might explain why it was so tight. Or, maybe they were just afraid of him. He snorted a laugh. That was more likely. After all, he’d been so good with picking out people nobody would miss. It was like he had god-given luck.

A talent, was what they’d called it. To be so completely destructive but elude notice was a gift to be treasured.

The van slowed down, wheels crunching over gravel until the breaks squeaked it to a stop. The engine ran down until there was nothing but quiet, and footsteps approaching the back doors of the van. They swung open, revealing a man in priest’s robes flanked by two extremely burly looking men.

“Good evening, young Mister Jones.” the man greeted, friendly face lined with age and grey hair thinning at the top. He spread his arms wide, welcoming. Alfred stood on his own and walked to the entrance. The guards eyed him suspiciously. Were they expecting him to still be half asleep? The sedatives had worn off hours ago. “How nice that we could make this arrangement.”

“Call me Alfred.” the teen grinned, holding out his hand to shake the priest’s. He savoured the look of shock on the older man’s face. Did they think that this battered old straight jacket would hold him so easily? “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The priest shook off his surprise and returned the smile. “Welcome to the Hunters, Alfred.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional material:  
> \- The [Monster Series Wiki](http://monstermash.wikia.com/wiki/Monster_Series_Wiki) on wikia, containing lots of bonus information you never knew about the characters and the world of Monster Mash.  
> \- There's also a Monster AU community: [monster_au](http://monster-au.livejournal.com/)! Go check it out, there are a lot of extra ficlets and drabbles also set in the world of Monster Mash, contributed not only by me, but by other people too. Feel free to add your own!  
> \- megkips has been awesome and made an [FST for Monster Mash](http://monster-au.livejournal.com/2510.html), go download it~!  
> \- Thanks for reading!


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